WILLIAM  R.  PERKINS 
LIBRARY 

DUKE  UNIVERSITY 


Montrose  J.  Moses 
Collection 

Presented  by  his  wife 

Mrs  Montrose  J.  Moses 

together  with  his  sons 

Lawrence  Southerland  Moses 

and 

Montrose  James  Moses 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/wastenotwantnot01edge 


AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 

MARIA  EDGEWORTH,  JANE  TAYLOR 
AND  MRS.  BARBAULD 


EDITED  WITH  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES 


By  M.  V.  O’SHEA 

PROFESSOR  OF  EDUCATION  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  WISCONSIN 


WITH  THIR  TY-  TWO  ILL  USTRA  TIONS 
BY  W.  P.  BOD  WELL 


BOSTON,  U.S.A. 

D.  C.  HEATH  & CO.,  PUBLISHERS 

1901 


Copyright,  iqoi. 

By  D.  C.  Heath  & Co. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


§>Z3,£ 


PAGE 

Introduction vii 

WASTE  NOT;  WANT  NOT i 

By  Maria  Edgeworth. 

THE  DISCONTENTED  PENDULUM  ...  51 

By  Jane  Taylor. 

ORDER  AND  DISORDER 58 

By  Mrs.  Barbauld. 

THE  PHILOSOPHER’S  SCALES  ....  73 

By  Jane  Taylor. 

Note 83 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

WASTE  NOT,  WANT  NOT 

“Oh!  what  an  excellent  motto!”  exclaimed  Ben  Frontispiece 


“Don’t  cut  it,  Hal”  ........  4 

“She  fell  down  a whole  flight  of  stairs”  ...  8 

“A  game  at  her  favorite  cat’s-cradle ” . . . .10 

“I’ve  only  two-pence”  . . . . . . . 17 

“Threw  a whole  queen-cake  to  the  dog”  19 

The  Nave  of  Bristol  Cathedral  . . . . .21 

'‘Here  are  your  gloves”  . . . . . . -33 

“He  dragged  poor  Hal  . . . out  of  the  red  mud”  . . 42 

“Drew  from  his  pocket  an  excellent  piece  of  whip-cord”  47 
“He  drew  his  bow  the  third  and  last  time”  ...  49 


v 


VI 


List  of  Illustrations 


THE  DISCONTENTED  PENDULUM 

PAGE 

An  old  clock  . . . suddenly  stopped  . . - Si 

The  dial  instituted  a formal  inquiry  ...  52 

“I  am  tired  of  ticking”  . . . . . -53 

The  pendulum  began  to  swing  again  ...  55 

His  watch  had  gained  half  an  hour  ....  56 

ORDER  AND  DISORDER 

“If  she  was  at  work  . . . about  on  the  floor”  . . 58 

Juliet  leaves  to  visit  an  old  lady  in  the  country  . . 60 

“My  mistress  has  sent  you  a piece  of  work  to  do”  . 61 

“Juliet  laid  down  the  needle  and  fell  a-crying”  . . 63 

“The  threads  separated  and  arranged  themselves”  . . 64 

“Juliet  finished  the  flower  by  dinner-time”  . . -65 

“You  must  state  separately  the  amount  of  every  article”  67 
“Where  am  I to  begin?”.  . . . . . .68 

“You  must  exactly  copy  out  this  poem”  ....  70 

THE  PHILOSOPHER’S  SCALES 

“The  first  thing  he  tried  was  the  head  of  Voltaire”  . 72 

“Containing  the  prayer  of  the  penitent  thief”  ...  74 

“As  to  bound,  like  a ball,  to  the  roof  of  the  cell”  . 75 

“Next  time  he  put  in  Alexander  the  Great”  ...  76 

“A  well-esteem’d  pharisee”  . . . .77 

“The  whole  world  was  bowl’d  in”  . . . .79 

“It  made  a vast  rent”  .......  80 


INTRODUCTION 


Constant  insisting  on  the  importance  of  honesty, 
thrift,  perseverance,  consideration  and  order  is  apt  to  be- 
come wearisome  and  fail  of  its  effect.  And  yet  children 
are  always  attracted  to  persons  who  display  these  quali- 
ties, especially  if  they  are  strong,  vigorous  and  attractive 
in  other  ways.  One  effective  method  of  impressing 
their  importance  upon  the  mind  of  youth  is  in  deftly 
weaving  these  attributes  into  stories  of  interesting, 
attractive  boys  and  girls.  The  moral  must  creep  in 
stealthily,  as  it  were;  it  must  not  present  itself  in  a 
domineering  manner.  Children  are  not  able  to  digest 
highly  concentrated  moral  pabulum ; it  needs  to  be  much 
diluted  with  the  dramatic  to  be  made  assimilable,  — it 
must  be  offered  in  the  story  form.  In  our  teaching  there 
must  be  nine  parts  of  story  and  one  of  instruction,  and 
then  the  kernel  of  moral  truth  will  be  assimilated  with 
the  rest. 

The  stories  in  this  volume  have  been  selected  in 
view  of  these  principles.  They  severally  aim  to  de- 
velop an  appreciation  of  the  value  of  thrift,  frankness, 
genuineness,  and  many  kindred  virtues  in  all  the  affairs 
of  daily  life ; and  they  seek  to  accomplish  this  by  present- 
ing to  the  young  reader  lively  scenes  wherein  interesting 
people  or  objects  are  the  actors.  Each  story  makes  use 
of  some  novel  situation  to  impress  its  lesson,  and  in  this 
way  it  is  capable  of  entertaining  while  at  the  same  time 
teaching  in  an  effective  manner. 


vii 


University  of  Wisconsin. 


M.  V.  O’Shea. 


WASTE  NOT,  WANT  NOT:  OR,  TWO 
STRINGS  TO  YOUR  BOW 


R.  GRESHAM,  a Bristol  merchant,  who  had, 


by  honorable  industry  and  economy,  accu- 
mulated a considerable  fortune,  retired  from  busi- 
ness to  a rlew  house  which  he  had  built  upon  the 
Downs,  near  Clifton.  Mr.  Gresham,  however, 
did  not  imagine  that  a new  house  alone  could 
make  him  happy.  He  did  not  propose  to  live  in 
idleness  and  extravagance;  for  such  a life  would 
have  been  equally  incompatible  with  his  habits 
and  his  principles.  He  was  fond  of  children;  and 
as  he  had  no  sons,  he  determined  to  adopt  one 
of  his  relations.  He  had  two  nephews,  and  he  in- 
vited both  of  them  to  his  house,  that  he  might 
have  an  opportunity  of  judging  of  their  disposi- 
tions, and  of  the  habits  which  they  had  acquired. 

Hal  and  Benjamin,  Mr.  Gresham’s  nephews, 
were  each  about  ten  years  old.  They  had  been 
educated  very  differently.  Hal  was  the  son  of 
the  elder  branch  of  the  family.  His  father  was 
a gentleman,  who  spent  rather  more  than  he  could 
afford;  and  Hal,  from  the  example  of  the  servants 
in  his  father’s  family,  with  whom  he  had  passed 
the  first  years  of  his  childhood,  learned  to  waste 


By  Maria  Edgeworth 


2 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


more  of  everything  than  he  used.  He  had  been 
told,  that  “gentlemen  should  be  above  being  care- 
ful and  saving”;  and  he  had  unfortunately  im- 
bibed a notion  that  extravagance  was  the  sign  of 
a generous  disposition,  and  economy  of  an  avari- 
cious one. 

Benjamin,  on  the  contrary,  had  been  taught 
habits  of  care  and  foresight.  His  father  had  but 
a very  small  fortune,  and  was  anxious  that  his 
son  should  early  learn  that  economy  insures  inde- 
pendence, and  sometimes  puts  it  in  the  power  of 
those  who  are  not  very  rich  to  be  very  generous. 

The  morning  after  these  two  boys  arrived  at 
their  uncle’s,  they  were  eager  to  see  all  the  rooms 
in  the  house.  Mr.  Gresham  accompanied  them, 
and  attended  to  their  remarks  and  exclamations. 

“Oh!  what  an  excellent  motto!”  exclaimed 
Ben,  when  he  read  the  following  words,  which 
were  written  in  large  characters  over  the  chim- 
ney-piece, in  his  uncle’s  spacious  kitchen:  — 

“WASTE  NOT,  WANT  NOT.” 

“Waste  not,  want  not!”  repeated  his  cousin 
Hal,  in  rather  a contemptuous  tone;  “I  think  it 
looks  stingy  to  servants;  and  no  gentleman’s  serv- 
ants, cooks  especially,  would  like  to  have  such  a 
mean  motto  always  staring  them  in  the  face.” 
Ben,  who  was  not  so  conversant  as  his  cousin  in 
the  ways  of  cooks  and  gentlemen’s  servants,  made 
no  reply  to  these  observations. 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


3 


Mr.  Gresham  was  called  away  whilst  his  neph- 
ews were  looking  at  the  other  rooms  in  the  house. 
Some  time  afterwards  he  heard  their  voices  in  the 
hall. 

“Boys,”  said  he,  “what  are  you  doing  there?” 
“Nothing,  sir,”  said  Hal;  “you  were  called  away 
from  us,  and  we  did  not  know  which  way  to  go.” 
“And  have  you  nothing  to  do?”  said  Mr.  Gres- 
ham. 

“No,  sir,  nothing,”  answered  Hal,  in  a careless 
tone,  like  one  who  was  well  content  with  the  state 
of  habitual  idleness. 

“No,  sir,  nothing!”  replied  Ben,  in  a voice  of 
lamentation. 

“Come,”  said  Mr.  Gresham,  “if  you  have  noth- 
ing to  do,  lads,  will  you  unpack  these  two  parcels 
for  me?” 

The  two  parcels  were  exactly  alike,  both  of 
them  well  tied  up  with  good  whip-cord.  Ben  took 
his  parcel  to  a table,  and,  after  breaking  off  the 
sealing-wax,  began  carefully  to  examine  the  knot, 
and  then  to  untie  it.  Hal  stood  still,  exactly  in  the 
spot  where  the  parcel  was  put  into  his  hands,  and 
tried  first  at  one  corner,  and  then  at  another,  to 
pull  the  string  off  by  force. 

“I  wish  these  people  wouldn’t  tie  up  their  par- 
cels so  tight,  as  if  they  were  never  to  be  undone,” 
cried  he,  as  he  tugged  at  the  cord;  and  he  pulled 
the  knot  closer  instead  of  loosening  it. 

“Ben!  why,  how  did  you  get  yours  undone, 


4 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


man?  — what’s  in  your  parcel?  — I wonder  what 


“Don’t  cut  it,  Hal.” 

is  in  mine.  I wish  I could  get  this  string  off  — 
I must  cut  it.” 

“Oh,  no,”  said  Ben,  who  now  had  undone  the 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


5 


last  knot  of  his  parcel,  and  who  drew  out  the 
length  of  string  with  exultation,  “don’t  cut  it, 
Hal.  Look  what  a nice  cord  this  is,  and  yours  is 
the  same:  it’s  a pity  to  cut  it;  ‘ Waste  not , want 
not!'  you  know.” 

“Pooh!”  said  Hal,  “what  signifies  a bit  of  pack- 
thread?” 

“It  is  whip-cord.” 

“Well,  whip-cord!  what  signifies  a bit  of  whip- 
cord! you  can  get  a bit  of  whip-cord  twice  as  long 
as  that  for  two-pence;  and  who  cares  for  two- 
pence! Not  I,  for  one!  so  here  it  goes,”  cried 
Hal,  drawing  out  his  knife;  and  he  cut  the  cord, 
precipitately,  in  sundry  places. 

“Lads!  have  you  undone  the  parcels  for  me?” 
said  Mr.  Gresham,  opening  the  parlor-door  as  he 
spoke.  “Yes,  sir,”  cried  Hal;  and  he  dragged 
off  his  half -cut,  half-entangled  string, — “here’s 
the  parcel.”  “And  here’s  my  parcel,  uncle;  and 
here’s  the  string,”  said  Ben.  “You  may  keep  the 
string  for  your  pains,”  said  Mr.  Gresham.  “Thank 
you,  sir,”  said  Ben;  “what  an  excellent  whip-cord 
it  is!”  “And  you,  Hal,”  continued  Mr.  Gresham, 
“you  may  keep  your  string  too,  if  it  will  be  of 
any  use  to  you.”  “It  will  be  of  no  use  to  me, 
thank  you,  sir,”  said  Hal.  “No,  I am  afraid  not, 
if  this  be  it,”  said  his  uncle,  taking  up  the  jagged, 
knotted  remains  of  Hal’s  cord. 

A few  days  after  this,  Mr.  Gresham  gave  to 
each  of  his  nephews  a new  top. 


6 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


“But  how’s  this?”  said  Hal;  “these  tops  have 
no  strings;  what  shall  we  do  for  strings?”  “I 
have  a string  that  will  do  very  well  for  mine,” 
said  Ben;  and  he  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  the  fine, 
long,  smooth  string  which  had  tied  up  the  parcel. 
With  this  he  soon  set  up  his  top,  which  spun  ad- 
mirably well. 

“Oh  how  I wish  I had  but  a string!”  said  Hal; 
“what  shall  I do  for  a string?  I'll  tell  you  what; 
I can  use  the  string  that  goes  round  my  hat!” 
“But  then,”  said  Ben,  “what  will  you  do  for  a 
hat-band?”  “I'll  manage  to  do  without  one,” 
said  Hal;  and  he  took  the  string  off  his  hat  for 
his  top.  It  soon  was  worn  through;  and  he  split 
his  top  by  driving  the  peg  too  tightly  into  it. 
His  cousin  Ben  let  him  set  up  his  the  next  day; 
but  Hal  was  not  more  fortunate  or  more  careful 
when  he  meddled  with  other  people’s  things  than 
when  he  managed  his  own.  He  had  scarcely 
played  half  an  hour  before  he  split  it,  by  driving 
in  the  peg  too  violently. 

Ben  bore  this  misfortune  with  good  humor. 
“Come,”  said  he,  “it  can’t  be  helped:  but  give  me 
the  string,  because  that  may  still  be  of  use  for 
something  else.” 

It  happened  some  time  afterwards  that  a lady, 
who  had  been  intimately  acquainted  with  Hal's 
mother  at  Bath,  now  arrived  at  Clifton.  She  was 
informed  by  his  mother  that  Hal  was  at  Mr.  Gres- 
ham’s; and  her  sons  who  were  friends  of  his, 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not  7 

came  to  see  him,  and  invited  him  to  spend  the 
next  day  with  them. 

Hal  joyfully  accepted  the  invitation.  He  was 
always  glad  to  go  out  to  dine,  because  it  gave  him 
something  to  do,  something  to  think  of,  or  at  least 
something  to  say.  Besides  this,  he  had  been  edu- 
cated to  think  it  was  a fine  thing  to  visit  fine 
people;  and  Lady  Diana  Sweepstakes  (for  that 
was  the  name  of  his  mother’s  acquaintance)  was 
a very  fine  lady,  and  her  two  sons  intended  to 
be  very  great  gentlemen.  He  was  in  a prodigious 
hurry  when  these  young  gentlemen  knocked  at 
his  uncle’s  door  the  next  day;  but  just  as  he  got 
to  the  hall  door,  little  Patty  called  to  him  from 
the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  told  him  that  he  had 
dropped  his  pocket-handkerchief. 

“ Pick  it  up,  then,  and  bring  it  to  me,  quick, 
can’t  you,  child?”  cried  Hal,  “for  Lady  Di’s  sons 
are  waitins;  for  me.” 

Little  Patty  did  not  know  anything  about  Lady 
Di’s  sons;  but  she  was  very  good-natured,  and 
saw  that  her  cousin  Hal  was,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  in  a desperate  hurry,  so  she  ran  down-stairs 
as  fast  as  she  possibly  could,  towards  the  landing- 
place,  where  the  handkerchief  lay;  but,  alas!  be- 
fore she  reached  the  handkerchief,  she  fell,  rolling 
down  a whole  flight  of  stairs,  and  when  her  fall 
was  at  last  stopped  by  the  landing-place,  she  did 
not  cry,  but  she  writhed  as  if  she  was  in  great 
pain. 


8 Waste  Not,  Want  Not 

“Where  are  you  hurt,  my  love?”  said  Mr. 
Gresham,  who  came  instantly,  on  hearing  the 


She  fell  down  a whole  flight  of  stairs. 

noise  of  some  one  falling  down-stairs.  “Where 
are  you  hurt,  my  dear?” 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


9 


“Here,  papa,”  said  the  little  girl,  touching  her 
ankle;  “I  believe  I am  hurt  here,  but  not  much,” 
added  she,  trying  to  rise;  “only  it  hurts  me  when 
I move.”  “I’ll  carry  you;  don’t  move,  then,”  said 
her  father;  and  he  took  her  up  in  his  arms.  “My 
shoe;  I’ve  lost  one  of  my  shoes,”  said  she. 

Ben  looked  for  it  upon  the  stairs,  and  he  found 
it  sticking  in  a loop  of  whip-cord,  which  was  en- 
tangled round  one  of  the  banisters.  When  this 
cord  was  drawn  forth,  it  appeared  that  it  was  the 
very  same  jagged  entangled  piece  which  Hal  had 
pulled  off  his  parcel.  He  had  diverted  himself 
with  running  up  and  down-stairs,  whipping  the 
banisters  with  it,  for  he  thought  he  could  convert 
it  to  no  better  use;  and,  with  his  usual  careless- 
ness, he  at  last  left  it  hanging  just  where  he  hap- 
pened to  throw  it  when  the  dinner-bell  rang. 
Poor  little  Patty’s  ankle  was  terribly  sprained,  and 
Hal  reproached  himself  for  his  folly,  and  would 
have  reproached  himself  longer,  perhaps,  if  Lady 
Di  Sweepstakes’  sons  had  not  hurried  him  away. 

In  the  evening,  Patty  could  not  run  about  as 
she  used  to  do;  but  she  sat  upon  the  sofa,  and 
she  said  that  she  did  not  feel  the  pain  in  her 
ankle  so  much,  whilst  Ben  was  so  good  as  to  play 
at  jack-straws  with  her. 

“That’s  right,  Ben;  never  be  ashamed  of  being 
good-natured  to  those  who  are  younger  and  weaker 
than  yourself,”  said  his  uncle,  smiling  at  seeing 
him  produce  his  whip-cord,  to  indulge  his  little 


IO 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


cousin  with  a game  at  her  favorite  cat’s-cradle. 
“ I shall  not  think  you  one  bit  less  manly,  because 
I see  you  playing  at  cat’s-cradle  with  a little  child 
of  six  years  old.” 


“A  game  at  her  favorite  cat’s-cradle.” 


Hal,  however,  was  not  precisely  of  his  uncle’s 
opinion;  for  when  he  returned  in  the  evening,  and 
saw  Ben  playing  with  his  little  cousin,  he  could 
not  help  smiling  contemptuously,  and  asked  if  he 
had  been  playing  at  cat’s-cradle  all  night.  In  a 
heedless  manner  he  made  some  inquiries  after 
Patty’s  sprained  ankle,  and  then  he  ran  on  to  tell 
all  the  news  he  had  heard  at  Lady  Diana  Sweep- 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


1 1 

stakes’, — news  which  he  thought  would  make 
him  appear  a person  of  vast  importance. 

“Do  you  know,  uncle, — do  you  know,  Ben,” 
said  he, — “there’s  to  be  the  most  famous  doings 
that  ever  were  heard  of  upon  the  Downs  here, 
the  first  day  of  next  month,  which  will  be  in  a 
fortnight,  — thank  my  stars  ! I wish  the  fort- 
night was  over ; I shall  think  of  nothing  else,  I 
know,  till  that  happy  day  comes!” 

Mr.  Gresham  inquired  why  the  first  of  Sep- 
tember was  to  be  so  much  happier  than  any  other 
day  in  the  year.  “Why,”  replied  Hal,  “Lady 
Diana  Sweepstakes,  you  know,  is  a famous  rider 
and  archer,  and  all  that.”  “Very  likely,”  said 
Mr.  Gresham,  soberly;  “but  what  then?” 

“Dear  uncle!”  cried  Hal,  “but  you  shall  hear. 
There’s  to  be  a race  upon  the  Downs  the  first  of 
September,  and  after  the  race  there’s  to  be  an 
archery  meeting  for  the  ladies,  and  Lady  Diana 
Sweepstakes  is  to  be  one  of  them.  And  after 
the  ladies  have  done  shooting, — now,  Ben,  comes 
the  best  part  of  it!  — we  boys  are  to  have  our 
turn,  and  Lady  Di  is  to  give  a prize  to  the  best 
marksman  amongst  us,  of  a very  handsome  bow 
and  arrow!  Do  you  know,  I’ve  been  practising 
already,  and  I’ll  show  you  to-morrow,  as  soon  as 
it  comes  home,  the  famous  bow  and  arrow  that 
Lady  Diana  has  given  me;  but,  perhaps,”  added 
he,  with  a scornful  laugh,  “you  like  a cat’s-cradle 
better  than  a bow  and  arrow.” 


12 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


Ben  made  no  reply  to  this  taunt  at  the  mo- 
ment; but  the  next  day,  when  Hal’s  new  bow  and 
arrow  came  home,  he  convinced  Hal  that  he 
knew  how  to  use  it  very  well. 

“Ben,”  said  his  uncle,  “you  seem  to  be  a good 
marksman,  though  you  have  not  boasted  of  your- 
self. I’ll  give  you  a bow  and  arrow,  and,  per- 
haps if  you  practice,  you  may  make  yourself  an 
archer  before  the  first  of  September;  and,  in  the 
meantime,  you  will  not  wish  the  fortnight  to  be 
over,  for  you  will  have  something  to  do.” 

“Oh,  sir,”  interrupted  Hal,  “but  if  you  mean 
that  Ben  should  put  in  for  the  prize,  he  must 
have  a uniform.”  “Why  must  he?”  said  Mr. 
Gresham,  “Why,  sir,  because  everybody  has  — 
I mean  everybody  that’s  anybody;  and  Lady 
Diana  was  talking  about  the  uniform  all  dinner- 
time, and  it’s  settled  all  about  it,  except  the  but- 
tons; the  young  Sweepstakes  are  to  get  theirs 
made  first  for  patterns:  they  are  to  be  white, 
faced  with  green;  and  they’ll  look  very  hand- 
some, I’m  sure;  and  I shall  write  to  mamma  to- 
night, as  Lady  Diana  bid  me,  about  mine;  and  I 
shall  tell  her  to  be  sure  to  answer  my  letter,  with- 
out fail,  by  return  of  the  post;  and  then  if  mam- 
ma makes  no  objection,  which  I know  she  won’t, 
because  she  never  thinks  much  about  expense, 
and  all  that,  — then  I shall  bespeak  my  uniform, 
and  get  it  made  by  the  same  tailor  that  makes 
for  Lady  Diana  and  the  young  Sweepstakes.” 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


13 


“Mercy  upon  us!”  said  Mr.  Gresham,  who  was 
almost  stunned  by  the  rapid  vociferation  with 
which  this  long  speech  about  a uniform  was  pro- 
nounced. “ I don’t  pretend  to  understand  these 
things,”  added  he,  with  an  air  of  simplicity;  “but 
we  will  inquire,  Ben,  into  the  necessity  of  the 
case;  and  if  it  is  necessary  — or  if  you  think  it 
necessary  that  you  shall  have  a uniform,  — why, 
I’ll  give  you  one.” 

“You,  uncle!  Will  you,  indeed?”  exclaimed  Hal, 
with  amazement  painted  in  his  countenance. 
“Well,  that’s  the  last  thing  in  the  world  I should 
have  expected!  You  are  not  at  all  the  sort  of 
person  I should  have  thought  would  care  about 
a uniform;  and  now  I should  have  supposed  you’d 
have  thought  it  extravagant  to  have  a coat  on 
purpose  only  for  one  day;  and  I’m  sure  Lady 
Diana  Sweepstakes  thought  as  I do;  for  when  I 
told  her  of  that  motto  over  your  kitchen-chim- 
ney, ‘waste  not,  want  not,’  she  laughed,  and 
said  that  I had  better  not  talk  to  you  about  uni- 
forms, and  that  my  mother  was  the  proper  per- 
son to  write  to  about  my  uniform:  but  I’ll  tell 
Lady  Diana,  uncle,  how  good  you  are,  and  how 
much  she  was  mistaken.” 

“Take  care  how  you  do  that,”  said  Mr.  Gres- 
ham; “for  perhaps  the  lady  was  not  mistaken.” 
“Nay,  did  not  you  say,  just  now,  you  would  give 
poor  Ben  a uniform?”  “I  said  I would,  if  he 
thought  it  necessary  to  have  one.”  “Oh,  I’ll  an- 


H 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


swer  for  it,  he’ll  think  it  necessary,”  said  Hal, 
laughing,  “because  it  is  necessary.”  “Allow  him, 
at  least,  to  judge  for  himself,”  said  Mr.  Gresham. 
“My  dear  uncle,  but  I assure  you,”  said  Hal, 
earnestly,  “there’s  no  judging  about  the  matter, 
because  really,  upon  my  word,  Lady  Diana  said 
distinctly  that  her  sons  were  to  have  uniforms, 
white  faced  with  green,  and  a green  and  white 
cockade  in  their  hats.”  “May  be  so,”  said  Mr. 
Gresham,  still  with  the  same  look  of  calm  sim- 
plicity; “put  on  your  hats,  boys,  and  come  with 
me. 

“I  cannot  tell  what  to  make  of  all  he  says,” 
whispered  Hal  as  he  reached  down  his  hat;  “do 
you  think,  Ben,  he  means  to  give  you  this  uniform 
or  not?”  “I  think,”  said  Ben,  “that  he  means 
to  give  me  one,  if  it  is  necessary,  or,  as  he  said,  if 
I think  it  is  necessary.” 

“And  that  to  be  sure  you  will;  won’t  you?  or 
else  you’ll  be  a great  fool,  I know,  after  all  I’ve 
told  you.  How  can  any  one  in  the  world  know  so 
much  about  the  matter  as  I,  who  have  dined  with 
Lady  Diana  Sweepstakes  but  yesterday, and  heard 
all  about  it  from  beginning  to  end?  And  as  for 
this  gentleman  that  we  are  going  to,  I’m  sure,  if 
he  knows  anything  about  the  matter,  he’ll  say 
exactly  the  same  as  I do.” 

The  gentleman  upon  whom  Mr.  Gresham 
called  had  three  sons,  who  were  all  to  be  at  this 
archery  meeting;  and  they  unanimously  assured 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


15 


him,  in  the  presence  of  Hal  and  Ben,  that  they 
had  never  thought  of  buying  uniforms  for  this 
grand  occasion,  and  that,  amongst  the  number  of 
their  acquaintance,  they  knew  of  but  three  boys 
whose  friends  intended  to  be  at  such  an  unneces- 
sary expense.  Hal  stood  amazed. 

“Such  are  the  varieties  of  opinion  upon  all  the 
grand  affairs  of  life,”  said  Mr.  Gresham,  looking 
at  his  nephews.  “What  amongst  one  set  of  peo- 
ple you  hear  asserted  to  be  absolutely  necessary, 
you  will  hear  from  another  set  of  people  is  quite 
unnecessary.  All  that  can  be  done,  my  dear  boys, 
in  these  difficult  cases,  is  to  judge  for  yourselves, 
which  opinions,  and  which  people,  are  the  most 
reasonable.” 

Hal,  who  had  been  more  accustomed  to  think 
of  what  was  fashionable  than  of  what  was  reason- 
able, without  at  all  considering  the  good  sense  of 
what  his  uncle  said  to  him,  replied,  with  childish 
petulance,  “Indeed,  sir,  I don’t  know  what  other 
people  think;  but  I only  know  what  Lady  Diana 
Sweepstakes  said.”  The  name  of  Lady  Diana 
Sweepstakes,  Hal  thought,  must  impress  all  pres- 
ent with  respect:  he  was  highly  astonished  when, 
as  he  looked  round,  he  saw  a smile  of  contempt 
upon  every  one's  countenance;  and  he  was  yet 
further  bewildered  when  he  heard  her  spoken  of 
as  a very  silly,  extravagant,  ridiculous  woman, 
whose  opinion  no  prudent  person  would  ask  upon 
any  subject,  and  whose  example  was  to  be 


i6 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


shunned,  instead  of  being  imitated.  “Aye,  my 
dear  Hal,”  said  his  uncle,  smiling  at  his  look  of 
amazement,  “these  are  some  of  the  things  that 
young  people  must  learn  from  experience.  All 
the  world  do  not  agree  in  opinion  about  charac- 
ters: you  will  hear  the  same  person  admired  in 
one  company,  and  blamed  in  another;  so  that  we 
must  still  come  round  to  the  same  point,  Judge 
for  yourself.” 

Hal’s  thoughts  were,  however,  at  present,  too 
full  of  the  uniform  to  allow  his  judgment  to  act 
with  perfect  impartiality.  As  soon  as  their  visit 
was  over,  and  all  the  time  they  walked  down  the 
hill  from  Prince’s  Buildings  towards  Bristol,  he 
continued  to  repeat  nearly  the  same  arguments 
which  he  had  formerly  used,  respecting  necessi- 
ty, the  uniform,  and  Lady  Diana  Sweepstakes. 
To  all  this  Mr.  Gresham  made  no  reply;  and 
longer  had  the  young  gentleman  expatiated  upon 
the  subject,  which  had  so  strongly  seized  upon 
his  imagination,  had  not  his  senses  been  forcibly 
assailed  at  this  instant  by  the  delicious  odors  and 
tempting  sight  of  certain  cakes  and  jellies  in  a 
pastry-cook’s  shop.  “O  uncle,”  said  he,  as  his 
uncle  was  going  to  turn  the  corner  to  pursue  the 
road  to  Bristol,  “look  at  those  jellies!”  pointing 
to  a confectioner’s  shop.  “ I must  buy  some  of 
those  good  things,  for  I have  got  some  half-pence 
in  my  pocket.”  “Your  having  half-pence  in  your 
pocket  is  an  excellent  reason  for  eating,”  said  Mr. 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


17 


Gresham,  smiling.  “But  I really  am  hungry,” 
said  Hal;  “you  know,  uncle,  it  is  a good  while 
since  breakfast.” 


“I’ve  only  two-pence.” 

His  uncle,  who  was  desirous  to  see  his  nephews 
act  without  restraint,  that  he  might  judge  their 
characters,  bid  them  do  as  they  pleased. 

“Come,  then,  Ben,  if  you’ve  any  half-pence  in 


i8 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


your  pocket.”  “I’m  not  hungry,”  said  Ben.  “I 
suppose  that  means  that  you’ve  no  half-pence,” 
said  Hal,  laughing,  with  the  look  of  superiority 
which  he  had  been  taught  to  think  the  rich 
might  assume  towards  those  who  were  convicted 
either  of  poverty  or  economy.  “Waste  not, 
want  not,”  said  Ben  to  himself.  Contrary  to  his 
cousin’s  surmise,  he  happened  to  have  two-penny- 
worth of  half-pence  actually  in  his  pocket. 

At  the  very  moment  Hal  stepped  into  the  pas- 
try-cook’s shop,  a poor,  industrious  man,  with  a 
wooden  leg,  who  usually  sweeps  the  dirty  corner 
of  the  walk,  which  turns  at  this  spot  to  the  Wells, 
held  his  hat  to  Ben,  who,  after  glancing  his  eye 
at  the  petitioner’s  well-worn  broom,  instantly  pro- 
duced his  two-pence.  “I  wish  I had  more  half- 
pence for  you,  my  good  man,”  said  he ; “but  I’ve 
only  two-pence.” 

Hal  came  out  of  Mr.  Miller’s,  the  confectioner’s 
shop,  with  a hatful  of  cakes  in  his  hand.  Mr. 
Miller’s  dog  was  sitting  on  the  flags  before  the 
door ; and  he  looked  up,  with  a wistful,  begging 
eye  at  Hal,  who  was  eating  a queen-cake.  Hal, 
who  was  wasteful  even  in  his  good  nature,  threw 
a whole  queen-cake  to  the  dog,  who  swallowed  it 
for  a single  mouthful. 

“There  goes  two-pence  in  the  form  of  a queen- 
cake,”  said  Mr.  Gresham. 

Hal  next  offered  some  of  his  cakes  to  his  uncle 
and  cousin  ; but  they  thanked  him  and  refused  to 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


19 


eat  any,  because,  they  said  they  were  not  hungry; 
so  he  ate  and  ate,  as  he  walked  along,  till  at  last 


“Threw  a whole  queen-cake  to  the  dog.” 


he  stopped,  and  said,  “This  bun  tastes  so  bad 
after  the  queen-cakes,  I can’t  bear  it !”  and  he  was 
going  to  fling  it  from  him  into  the  river.  “Oh,  it 


20 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


is  a pity  to  waste  that  good  bun;  we  may  be  glad 
of  it  yet,”  said  Ben;  “give  it  to  me,  rather  than 
throw  it  away.”  “Why,  I thought  you  said  you 
were  not  hungry,”  said  Hal.  “True,  I am  not 
hungry  now;  but  that  is  no  reason  why  I should 
never  be  hungry  again.”  “Well,  there  is  the  cake 
for  you ; take  it,  for  it  has  made  me  sick ; and  I 
don't  care  what  becomes  of  it.” 

Ben  folded  the  refuse  bit  of  his  cousin’s  bun  in 
a piece  of  paper,  and  put  it  into  his  pocket. 

“I’m  beginning  to  be  exceedingly  tired,  or  sick, 
or  something,”  said  Hal.  “There  is  a stand  of 
coaches  somewhere  hereabouts;  hadn’t  we  better 
take  a coach,  instead  of  walking  all  the  way  to 
Bristol?” 

“For  a stout  archer,”  said  Mr.  Gresham,  “you 
are  more  easily  tired  than  one  might  have  ex- 
pected. However,  with  all  my  heart,  let  us  take 
a coach,  for  Ben  asked  me  to  show  him  the  cathe- 
dral yesterday ; and  I believe  I should  find  it 
rather  too  much  for  me  to  walk  so  far,  though  I 
am  not  sick  with  eating  good  things.” 

“The  cathedral!”  said  Hal,  after  he  had  been 
seated  in  the  coach  about  a quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  had  somewhat  recovered  from  his  sickness,  — 
“the  cathedral!  Why,  are  we  only  going  to  Bris- 
tol to  see  the  cathedral?  I thought  we  came  out 
to  see  about  a uniform.” 

There  was  a dullness  and  melancholy  kind  of 
stupidity  in  Hal's  countenance  as  he  pronounced 


The  Nave  of  Bristol  Cathedral. 


(From  Nicholls  & Taylor’s  “Bristol  Past  and  Present,”  London,  1881.) 


22 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


these  words,  like  one  wakening  from  a dream, 
which  made  both  his  uncle  and  cousin  burst  out 
a-laughing. 

“Why,”  said  H al,  who  was  no  w piqued,  “I’m  sure 
you  did  say,  uncle,  you  would  go  to  Mr.  Hall’s  to 
choose  the  cloth  for  the  uniform.”  “Very  true, 
and  so  I will,”  said  Mr.  Gresham;  “but  we  need 
not  make  a whole  morning's  work,  need  we,  of 
looking  at  a piece  of  cloth?  Cannot  we  see  a 
uniform  and  a cathedral  both  in  one  morning?” 

They  went  first  to  the  cathedral.  Hal’s  head 
was  too  full  of  the  uniform  to  take  any  notice  of 
the  painted  window,  which  immediately  caught 
Ben’s  unembarrassed  attention.  Mr.  Gresham, 
who  perceived  that  he  was  eager  on  all  subjects 
to  gain  information,  took  this  opportunity  of 
telling  him  several  things  about  the  lost  art  of 
painting  on  glass,  Gothic  arches,  etc.,  which  Hal 
thought  extremely  tiresome. 

“ Come ! come ! we  shall  be  late  indeed,”  said 
Hal;  “surely  you’ve  looked  long  enough,  Ben,  at 
this  blue  and  red  window.”  “ I'm  only  thinking 
about  these  colored  shadows,”  said  Ben.  “I  can 
show  you,  when  we  go  home,  Ben,”  said  his  uncle, 
“an  entertaining  paper  upon  such  shadows.” 
“Hark!”  cried  Ben,  “did  you  hear  that  noise?” 
They  all  listened;  and  they  heard  a bird  singing 
in  the  cathedral.  “It’s  our  old  robin,  sir,”  said 
the  lad  who  had  opened  the  cathedral-door  for 
them. 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


23 


“Yes,”  said  Mr.  Gresham,  “there  he  is,  boys, 
look,  — perched  upon  the  organ ; he  often  sits 
there,  and  sings,  whilst  the  organ  is  playing.” 
“And,”  continued  the  lad  who  showed  the  cathe- 
dral, “he  has  lived  here  these  many,  many  win- 
ters. They  say  he  is  fifteen  years  old  ; and  he  is 
so  tame,  poor  fellow,  that  if  I had  a bit  of  bread 
he’d  come  down  and  feed  in  my  hand.”  “I’ve  a 
bit  of  a bun  here,”  cried  Ben,  joyfully,  producing 
the  remains  of  the  bun  which  Hal  but  an  hour 
before  would  have  thrown  away.  “Pray  let  us 
see  the  poor  robin  eat  out  of  your  hand.” 

The  lad  crumbled  the  bun,  and  called  to  the 
robin,  who  fluttered  and  chirped,  and  seemed 
rejoiced  at  the  sight  of  the  bread;  but  he  did  not 
come  down  from  his  pinnacle  on  the  organ. 

“He  is  afraid  of  us,”  said  Ben;  “he  is  not  used 
to  eat  before  strangers,  I suppose.” 

“Ah,  no,  sir,”  said  the  young  man,  with  a deep 
sigh,  “that  is  not  the  thing.  He  is  used  enough 
to  eat  before  company.  Time  was  he’d  have  come 
down  for  me  before  ever  so  many  fine  folks,  and 
have  ate  his  crumbs  out  of  my  hand  at  my  first 
call;  but,  poor  fellow,  it’s  not  his  fault  now.  He 
does  not  know  me  now,  sir,  since  my  accident, 
because  of  this  great  black  patch.”  The  young 
man  put  his  hand  to  his  right  eye,  which  was 
covered  with  a huge  black  patch.  Ben  asked 
what  accident  he  meant;  and  the  lad  told  him 
that,  but  a few  weeks  ago,  he  had  lost  the  sight 


24 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


of  his  eye  by  the  stroke  of  a stone,  which  unluck- 
ily reached  him  as  he  was  passing  under  the 
rocks  at  Clifton  when  the  workmen  were  blast- 
ing. “ I don’t  mind  so  much  for  myself,  sir,”  said 
the  lad  ; but  I can’t  work  so  well  now,  as  I used 
to  do  before  my  accident,  for  my  old  mother  who 
has  had  a stroke  of  the  palsy;  and  I’ve  many  little 
brothers  and  sisters  not  well  able  yet  to  get  their 
own  livelihood,  though  they  be  as  willing  as  will- 
ing can  be.” 

“ Where  does  your  mother  live?”  said  Mr.  Gres- 
ham. 

“Hard  by,  sir,  just  close  to  the  church  here; 
it  was  she  that  always  had  the  showing  of  it  to 
strangers,  till  she  lost  the  use  of  her  poor  limbs.” 

“Shall  we,  may  we,  uncle,  go  that  way?  This 
is  the  house ; is  not  it  ? ” said  Ben,  when  they 
went  out  of  the  cathedral. 

They  went  into  the  house ; it  was  rather  a 
hovel  than  a house;  but  poor  as  it  was,  it  was  as 
neat  as  misery  could  make  it.  The  old  woman 
was  sitting  up  in  her  wretched  bed  winding 
worsted  ; four  meagre,  ill-clothed,  pale  children 
were  all  busy,  some  of  them  sticking  pins  in  paper 
for  the  pin-maker,  and  others  sorting  rags  for  the 
paper-maker. 

“What  a horrid  place  it  is !”  said  Hal,  sighing; 
“I  didn’t  know  there  were  such  shocking  places 
in  the  world.  I've  often  seen  terrible-looking, 
tumble-down  places,  as  we  drove  through  the  town 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


25 


in  mamma’s  carriage;  but  then  I did  not  know 
who  lived  in  them ; and  I never  saw  the  inside  of 
any  of  them.  It  is  very  dreadful,  indeed,  to  think 
that  people  are  forced  to  live  in  this  way.  I wish 
mamma  would  send  me  some  more  pocket-money, 
that  I might  do  something  for  them.  I had 
half-a-crown ; but,”  continued  he,  feeling  in  his 
pockets,  “I’m  afraid  I spent  the  last  shilling  of  it 
this  morning  upon  those  cakes  that  made  me  sick. 
I wish  I had  my  shilling  now,  I’d  give  it  to  these 
poor  people.” 

Ben,  though  he  was  all  this  time  silent,  was  as 
sorry  as  his  talkative  cousin  for  all  these  poor 
people.  But  there  was  some  difference  between 
the  sorrow  of  these  two  boys. 

Hal,  after  he  was  again  seated  in  the  hackney- 
coach,  and  had  rattled  through  the  busy  streets 
of  Bristol  for  a few  minutes,  quite  forgot  the  spec- 
tacle of  misery  which  he  had  seen;  and  the  gay 
shops  in  Wine  Street  and  the  idea  of  his  green  and 
white  uniform  wholly  occupied  his  imagination. 

“Now  for  our  uniforms!”  cried  he,  as  he  jumped 
eagerly  out  of  the  coach,  when  his  uncle  stopped 
at  the  woolen-draper’s  door. 

“Uncle,”  said  Ben,  stopping  Mr.  Gresham  before 
he  got  out  of  the  carriage,  “I  don’t  think  a uni- 
form is  at  all  necessary  for  me.  I’m  very  much 
obliged  to  you;  but  I would  rather  not  have  one. 
I have  a very  good  coat;  and  I think  it  would 
be  waste.” 


26 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


“Well,  let  me  get  out  of  the  carriage,  and  we 
will  see  about  it,”  said  Mr.  Gresham;  “perhaps 
the  sight  of  the  beautiful  green  and  white  cloth, 
and  the  epaulet  (have  you  ever  considered  the 
epaulets?)  may  tempt  you  to  change  your  mind.” 
“Oh  no,”  said  Ben,  laughing:  “I  shall  not  change 
my  mind.” 

The  green  cloth,  and  the  white  cloth,  and  the 
epaulets  were  produced,  to  Hal’s  infinite  satisfac- 
tion. His  uncle  took  up  a pen,  and  calculated  for 
a few  minutes;  then,  showing  the  back  of  the 
letter  upon  which  he  was  writing  to  his  nephews, 
“Cast  up  these  sums,  boys,”  said  he,  “and  tell  me 
whether  I am  right.”  “Ben,  do  you  do  it,”  said 
Hal,  a little  embarrassed;  “I  am  not  quick  at 
figures.”  Ben  was,  and  he  went  over  his  uncle’s 
calculation  very  expeditiously. 

“It  is  right,  is  it?”  said  Mr.  Gresham.  “Yes, 
sir,  quite  right.”  “Then  by  this  calculation,  I 
find  I could,  for  less  than  half  the  money  your 
uniforms  would  cost,  purchase  for  each  of  you 
boys  a warm  great-coat,  which  you  will  want,  I 
have  a notion,  this  winter  upon  the  Downs.” 

“Oh,  sir,”  said  Hal,  with  an  alarmed  look; 
“but  it  is  not  winter  yet;  it  is  not  cold  weather 
yet.  We  shan’t  want  great-coats  yet.” 

“Don’t  you  remember  how  cold  we  were,  Hal, 
the  day  before  yesterday,  in  that  sharp  wind, 
when  we  were  flying  our  kite  upon  the  Downs? 
and  winter  will  come,  though  it  is  not  come  yet. 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


27 


I am  sure,  I should  like  to  have  a good  warm 
great-coat  very  much.” 

Mr.  Gresham  took  six  guineas  out  of  his  purse; 
and  he  placed  three  of  them  before  Hal  and  three 
before  Ben.  “Young  gentlemen,”  said  he,  “I  be- 
lieve your  uniforms  would  come  to  about  three 
guineas  apiece.  Now  I will  lay  out  this  money 
for  you  just  as  you  please.  Hal,  what  say  you?” 
“Why,  sir,”  said  Hal,  “a  great-coat  is  a good 
thing,  to  be  sure;  and  then,  after  the  great-coat, 
as  you  said  it  would  only  cost  half  as  much  as  the 
uniform,  there  would  be  some  money  to  spare, 
wouldn’t  there?”  “Yes,  my  dear,  about  five-and- 
twenty  shillings.”  “ Five-and-twenty  shillings? 
I could  buy  and  do  a great  many  things,  to  be 
sure,  with  five-and-twenty  shillings;  but  then,  the 
thing  is,  I must  go  without  the  uniform,  if  I have 
the  great-coat.”  “Certainly,”  said  his  uncle. 
“Ah!”  said  Hal,  sighing,  as  he  looked  at  the 
epaulet,  “uncle,  if  you  would  not  be  displeased  if 
I choose  the  uniform” — “I  shall  not  be  dis- 
pleased at  your  choosing  whatever  you  like  best,” 
said  Mr.  Gresham. 

“Well,  then,  thank  you,  sir,”  said  Hal;  “I  think 
I had  better  have  the  uniform,  because,  if  I have 
not  the  uniform  now  directly,  it  will  be  of  no  use 
to  me,  as  the  archery  meeting  is  the  week  after 
next,  you  know;  and  as  to  the  great-coat,  per- 
haps between  this  time  and  the  very  cold  weather, 
which,  perhaps,  won’t  be  till  Christmas,  papa  will 


28 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


buy  a great-coat  for  me;  and  I'll  ask  mamma  to 
give  me  some  pocket-money  to  give  away,  and 
she  will,  perhaps.”  To  all  this  conclusive,  condi- 
tional reasoning,  which  depended  upon  “perhaps,” 
three  times  repeated,  Mr.  Gresham  made  no  re- 
ply; but  he  immediately  bought  the  uniform  for 
Hal,  and  desired  that  it  should  be  sent  to  Lady 
Diana  Sweepstakes’  son’s  tailor,  to  be  made  up. 
The  measure  of  Hal’s  happiness  was  now  com- 
plete. 

“And  how  am  I to  lay  out  the  three  guineas 
for  you,  Ben?”  said  Mr.  Gresham;  “speak,  what 
do  you  wish  for  first?”  “A  great-coat,  uncle,  if 
you  please.”  Mr.  Gresham  bought  the  coat;  and, 
after  it  was  paid  .for,  five-and-twenty  shillings  of 
Ben’s  three  guineas  remained.  “What  next,  my 
boy?”  said  his  uncle.  “Arrows,  uncle,  if  you 
please:  three  arrows.”  “My  dear,  I promised 
you  a bow  and  arrows.”  “No,  uncle,  you  only 
said  a bow.”  “Well,  I meant  a bow  and  arrows. 
I’m  glad  you  are  so  exact,  however.  It  is  better 
to  claim  less  than  more  of  what  is  promised. 
The  three  arrows  you  shall  have.  But,  go  on; 
how  shall  I dispose  of  these  five-and-twenty  shill- 
ings for  you?”  “In  clothes,  if  you  will  be  so 
good,  uncle,  for  that  poor  boy  who  has  the  great 
black  patch  on  his  eye.’ 

“I  always  believed,”  said  Mr.  Gresham,  shak- 
ing hands  with  Ben,  “that  economy  and  generos- 
ity were  the  best  friends,  instead  of  being  ene- 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


29 


mies,  as  some  silly,  extravagant  people  would 
have  us  think  them.  Choose  the  poor  blind  boy’s 
coat,  my  dear  nephew,  and  pay  for  it.  There’s 
no  occasion  for  my  praising  you  about  the  mat- 
ter. Your  best  reward  is  in  your  own  mind, 
child;  and  you  want  no  other,  or  I’m  mistaken. 
Now  jump  into  the  coach,  boys,  and  let’s  be  off. 
We  shall  be  late,  I’m  afraid,”  continued  he, 
as  the  coach  drove  on;  “but  I must  let  you 
stop,  Ben,  with  your  goods,  at  the  poor  boy’s 
door.” 

When  they  came  to  the  house,  Mr.  Gresham 
opened  the  coach-door,  and  Ben  jumped  out  with 
his  parcel  under  his  arm. 

“Stay,  stay!  You  must  take  me  with  you,” 
said  his  pleased  uncle;  “I  like  to  see  people  made 
happy,  as  well  as  you  do.”  “And  so  do  I too!” 
said  Hal;  “let  me  come  with  you.  I almost  wish 
my  uniform  was  not  gone  to  the  tailor’s,  so  I do.” 
And  when  he  saw  the  look  of  delight  and  grati- 
tude with  which  the  poor  boy  received  the  clothes 
which  Ben  gave  him,  and  when  he  heard  the 
mother  and  children  thank  him,  Hal  sighed,  and 
said,  “Well,  I hope  mamma  will  give  me  some 
more  pocket-money  soon.” 

Upon  his  return  home,  however,  the  sight  of 
the  famous  bow  and  arrow,  which  Lady  Diana 
Sweepstakes  had  sent  him,  recalled  to  his  imagi- 
nation all  the  joys  of  his  green  and  white  uni- 
form ; and  he  no  longer  wished  that  it  had  not 


30 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


been  sent  to  the  tailor’s.  “But  I don’t  under- 
stand, cousin  Hal,”  said  little  Patty,  “why  you 
call  this  bow  a famous  bow.  You  say  famous 
very  often;  and  I don’t  know  exactly  what  it 
means;  a famous  uniform — famous  doings.  I 
remember  you  said  there  are  to  be  famous  doings, 
the  first  of  September,  upon  the  Downs.  What 
does  famous  mean?”  “Oh,  why,  famous  means — 
don’t  you  know  what  famous  means?  It  means 
— it  is  a word  that  people  say — it  is  the  fashion 
to  say  it  — it  means — it  means  famous.”  Patty 
laughed,  and  said,  “This  does  not  explain  it  to 
me. 

“No,”  said  Hal,  “nor  can  it  be  explained:  if 
you  don’t  understand  it,  that’s  not  my  fault; 
everybody  but  little  children,  I suppose,  under- 
stands it;  but  there’s  no  explaining  that  sort  of 
words,  if  you  don’t  take  them  at  once.  There’s 
to  be  famous  doings  upon  the  Downs,  the  first  of 
September;  that  is,  grand,  fine.  In  short,  what 
does  it  signify  talking  any  longer,  Patty,  about 
the  matter?  Give  me  my  bow,  for  I must  go  out 
upon  the  Downs  and  practice.” 

Ben  accompanied  him  with  the  bow  and  the 
three  arrows  which  his  uncle  had  now  given  to 
him;  and  every  day  these  two  boys  went  out 
upon  the  Downs  and  practiced  shooting  with  in- 
defatigable perseverance.  Our  two  archers,  by 
constant  practice,  became  expert  marksmen;  and 
before  the  day  of  trial  they  were  so  exactly 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


31 


matched  in  point  of  dexterity,  that  it  was  scarcely 
possible  to  decide  which  was  superior. 

The  long-expected  first  of  September  at  length 
arrived.  “What  sort  of  day  is  it?”  was  the  first 
question  that  was  asked  by  Hal  and  Ben  the 
moment  that  they  wakened.  The  sun  shone 
bright!  but  there  was  a sharp  and  high  wind. 
“Ha!”  said  Ben,  “I  shall  be  glad  of  my  good 
great-coat  to-day;  for  I’ve  a notion  it  will  be 
rather  cold  upon  the  Downs,  especially  when  we 
are  standing  still,  as  we  must,  whilst  all  the  peo- 
ple are  shooting.”  “Oh,  never  mind!  I don’t 
think  I shall  feel  it  cold  at  all,”  said  Hal,  as  he 
dressed  himself  in  his  new  green  and  white  uni- 
form; and  he  viewed  himself  with  much  compla- 
cency. 

“Good-morning  to  you,  uncle;  how  do  you 
do?”  said  he,  in  a voice  of  exultation,  when  he 
entered  the  breakfast- room.  How  do  you  do? 
seemed  rather  to  mean:  How  do  you  like  me  in 
my  uniform?  And  his  uncle’s  cool,  “Very  well, 
I thank  you,  Hal,”  disappointed  him,  as  it  seemed 
only  to  say,  “Your  uniform  makes  no  difference 
in  my  opinion  of  you.” 

Even  little  Patty  went  on  eating  her  breakfast 
much  as  usual,  and  talked  of  the  pleasure  of  walk- 
ing with  her  father  to  the  Downs,  and  of  all  the 
little  things  which  interested  her;  so  that  Hal’s 
epaulets  were  not  the  principal  object  in  any 
one’s  imagination  but  his  own. 


32 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


“Papa,”  said  Patty,  “as  we  go  up  the  hill 
where  there  is  so  much  red  mud,  I must  take  care 
to  pick  my  way  nicely;  and  I must  hold  up  my 
frock,  as  you  desired  me;  and  perhaps  you  will 
be  so  good,  if  I am  not  troublesome,  to  lift  me 
over  the  very  bad  places  where  there  are  no  step- 
ping-stones. My  ankle  is  entirely  well,  and  I’m 
glad  of  that,  or  else  I should  not  be  able  to  walk 
so  far  as  the  Downs.  How  good  you  were  to  me, 
Ben,  when  I was  in  pain,  the  day  I sprained  my 
ankle!  you  played  at  jack-straws,  and  at  cat’s- 
cradle,  with  me.  Oh,  that  puts  me  in  mind  — 
here  are  your  gloves,  which  I asked  you  that 
night  to  let  me  mend.  I’ve  been  a great  while 
about  them;  but  are  they  not  very  neatly  mended, 
papa?  — look  at  the  sewing.” 

“I  am  not  a very  good  judge  of  sewing,  my 
dear  little  girl,”  said  Mr.  Gresham,  examining 
the  work  with  a close  and  scrupulous  eye;  “but, 
in  my  opinion,  here  is  one  stitch  that  is  rather 
too  long.  The  white  teeth  are  not  quite  even.” 
“Oh,  papa,  I’ll  take  out  that  long  tooth  in  a 
minute,”  said  Patty,  laughing:  “I  did  not  think 
that  you  would  have  observed  it  so  soon.” 

“ I would  not  have  you  trust  to  my  blindness,” 
said  her  father,  stroking  her  head  fondly;  “I  ob- 
serve everything.  I observe,  for  instance,  that 
you  are  a grateful  little  girl,  and  that  you  are 
glad  to  be  of  use  to  those  who  have  been  kind  to 
you;  and  for  this  I forgive  you  the  long  stitch,” 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not  33 

“But  it’s  out,  it’s  out,  papa,”  said  Patty;  “and 


“Here  are  your  gloves.” 

the  next  time  your  gloves  want  mending,  Ben, 
I’ll  mend  them  better,” 


34 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


“They  are  very  nice,  I think,”  said  Ben,  draw- 
ing them  on;  “and  I am  much  obliged  to  you. 
I was  just  wishing  I had  a pair  of  gloves  to  keep 
my  fingers  warm  to-day,  for  I never  can  shoot 
well  when  my  hands  are  benumbed.  Look,  Hal, 
you  know  how  ragged  these  gloves  were;  you 
said  they  were  good  for  nothing  but  to  throw 
away;  now  look,  there’s  not  a hole  in  them,”  said 
he,  spreading  his  fingers. 

“Now,  is  it  not  very  extraordinary,”  said  Hal 
to  himself,  “that  they  should  go  on  so  long  talk- 
ing about  an  old  pair  of  gloves,  without  saying  a 
word  about  my  new  uniform?  Well,  the  young 
Sweepstakes  and  Lady  Diana  will  talk  enough 
about  it;  that’s  one  comfort.  Is  it  not  time  to 
think  of  setting  out,  sir?”  said  Hal  to  his  uncle. 
“The  company,  you  know,  are  to  meet  at  the 
Ostrich  at  twelve,  and  the  race  is  to  begin  at 
one,  and  Lady  Diana’s  horses,  I know,  were  or- 
dered to  be  at  the  door  at  ten.” 

Mr.  Stephen,  the  butler,  here  interrupted  the 
hurrying  young  gentleman  in  his  calculations. 
“There’s  a poor  lad,  sir,  below,  with  a great  black 
patch  on  his  right  eye,  who  is  come  from  Bristol 
and  wants  to  speak  a word  with  the  young  gentle- 
men, if  you  please.  I told  him  they  were  just 
going  out  with  you ; but  he  says  he  won’t  detain 
them  more  than  half  a minute.” 

“Show  him  up,  show  him  up,”  said  Mr.  Gres- 
ham. 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


35 


“But,  I suppose,”  said  Hal,  with  a sigh,  “that 
Stephen  mistook  when  he  said  the  young 
gentlemen;  he  only  wants  to  see  Ben,  I dare 
say;  I’m  sure  he  has  no  reason  to  want  to  see 
me. 

“Here  he  comes.  O Ben,  he  is  dressed  in  the 
new  coat  you  gave  him,”  whispered  Hal,  who  was 
really  a good-natured  boy,  though  extravagant. 
“How  much  better  he  looks  than  he  did  in  the 
ragged  coat!  Ah!  he  looked  at  you  first,  Ben  — 
and  well  he  may!” 

The  boy  bowed,  without  any  cringing  civility, 
but  with  an  open,  decent  freedom  in  his  manner, 
which  expressed  that  he  had  been  obliged,  but 
that  he  knew  his  young  benefactor  was  not  think- 
ing of  the  obligation.  He  made  as  little  distinc- 
tion as  possible  between  his  bows  to  the  two 
cousins. 

“As  I was  sent  with  a message,  by  the  clerk  of 
our  parish,  to  Redland  chapel  out  on  the  Downs, 
to-day,  sir,”  said  he  to  Mr.  Gresham,  “knowing 
your  house  lay  in  my  way,  my  mother,  sir,  bade 
me  call  and  make  bold  to  offer  the  young  gentle- 
men two  little  worsted  balls  that  she  has  worked 
for  them,”  continued  the  lad,  pulling  out  of  his 
pocket  two  worsted  balls  worked  in  green  and 
orange  - colored  stripes.  “They  are  but  poor 
things,  sir,  she  bade  me  say,  to  look  at;  but,  con- 
sidering she  has  but  one  hand  to  work  with,  and 
that  her  left  hand,  you’ll  not  despise  ’em,  we 


36 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


hopes.”  He  held  the  balls  to  Ben  and  Hal. 
“They  are  both  alike,  gentlemen,”  said  he.  “If 
you’ll  be  pleased  to  take  ’em,  they’re  better  than 
they  look,  for  they  bound  higher  than  your  head. 
I cut  the  cork  round  for  the  inside  myself,  which 
was  all  I could  do.” 

“They  are  nice  balls,  indeed;  we  are  much 
obliged  to  you,”  said  the  boys  as  they  received 
them;  and  they  proved  them  immediately.  The 
ball  struck  the  floor  with  a delightful  sound,  and 
rebounded  higher  than  Mr.  Gresham’s  head. 
Little  Patty  clapped  her  hands  joyfully.  But  now 
a thundering  double  rap  at  the  door  was  heard. 

“The  Master  Sweepstakes,  sir,”  said  Stephen, 
“are  come  for  Master  Hal.  They  say  that  all  the 
young  gentlemen  who  have  archery  uniforms  are 
to  walk  together,  in  a body,  I think  they  say,  sir; 
and  they  are  to  parade  along  the  Well  Walk, 
they  desired  me  to  say,  sir,  with  a drum  and  fife, 
and  so  up  the  hill  by  Prince’s  Place,  and  all  to  go 
upon  the  Downs  together,  to  the  place  of  meet- 
ing. I am  not  sure  I'm  right,  sir;  for  both  the 
young  gentlemen  spoke  at  once,  and  the  wind  is 
very  high  at  the  street-door,  so  that  I could  not 
well  make  out  all  they  said;  but  I believe  this  is 
the  sense  of  it.” 

“Yes,  yes,”  said  Hal,  eagerly,  “it’s  all  right.  I 
know  that  is  just  what  was  settled  the  day  I 
dined  at  Lady  Diana’s;  and  Lady  Diana  and  a 
great  party  of  gentlemen  are  to  ride"  — 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


37 


“Well,  that  is  nothing  to  the  purpose,”  inter- 
rupted Mr.  Gresham.  “Don’t  keep  these  Master 
Sweepstakes  waiting.  Decide:  do  you  choose  to 
go  with  them  or  with  us?”  “Sir  — uncle  — sir, 
you  know,  since  all  the  uniforms  agreed  to  go  to- 
gether”— “Off  with  you,  then,  Mr.  Uniform,  if 
you  mean  to  go,”  said  Mr.  Gresham. 

Hal  ran  down-stairs  in  such  a hurry  that  he 
forgot  his  bow  and  arrows.  Ben  discovered  this 
when  he  went  to  fetch  his  own;  and  the  lad  from 
Bristol,  wrho  had  been  ordered  by  Mr.  Gresham 
to  eat  his  breakfast  before  he  proceeded  to  Red- 
land  Chapel,  heard  Ben  talking  about  his  cousin’s 
bow  and  arrows.  “I  know,”  said  Ben,  “he  will  be 
sorry  not  to  have  his  bow  with  him,  because  here 
are  the  green  knots  tied  to  it,  to  match  his  cock- 
ade; and  he  said  that  the  boys  were  all  to  carry 
their  bows,  as  part  of  the  show.” 

“If  you’ll  give  me  leave,  sir,”  said  the  poor 
Bristol  lad,  “I  shall  have  plenty  of  time;  and  I’ll 
run  down  to  the  Well  Walk  after  the  young  gen- 
tleman, and  take  him  his  bow  and  arrows.” 

“Will  you?  I shall  be  much  obliged  to  you,” 
said  Ben;  and  away  wrent  the  boy  with  the  bow 
that  was  ornamented  with  green  ribbons. 

The  public  walk  leading  to  the  Wells  was  full 
of  company.  The  windows  of  all  the  houses  in 
St.  Vincent’s  Parade  were  crowded  with  well- 
dressed  ladies,  who  were  looking  out  in  expecta- 
tion of  the  archery  procession.  Parties  of  gentle- 


38 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


men  and  ladies,  and  a motley  crowd  of  spectators 
was  seen  moving  backwards  and  forwards,  under 
the  rocks,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  water.  A 
barge,  with  colored  streamers  flying,  was  waiting 
to  take  up  a party  who  were  going  upon  the 
water.  The  bargemen  rested  upon  their  oars, 
and  gazed  with  broad  faces  of  curiosity  upon  the 
busy  scene  that  appeared  upon  the  public  walk. 

The  archers  were  now  drawn  up  on  the  flags, 
under  the  semicircular  piazza  just  before  Mrs. 
Yearsley’s  library.  A little  band  of  children, 
who  had  been  mustered  by  Lady  Diana  Sweep- 
stakes’  spirited  exertions,  closed  the  procession. 
They  were  now  all  in  readiness.  The  drummer 
only  waited  for  her  ladyship’s  signal;  and  the 
archers’  corps  only  waited  for  her  ladyship’s  word 
of  command  to  march. 

“Where  are  your  bow  and  arrows,  my  little 
man?”  said  her  ladyship  to  Hal,  as  she  reviewed 
her  Lilliputian  regiment.  “You  can’t  march, 
man,  without  your  arms!” 

Hal  had  dispatched  a messenger  for  his  forgot- 
ten bow,  but  the  messenger  returned  not.  He 
looked  from  side  to  side  in  great  distress.  “Oh, 
there’s  my  bow  coming,  I declare!”  cried  he:  — 
“look,  I see  the  bow  and  the  ribbons.  Look  now, 
between  the  trees,  Charles  Sweepstakes,  on  the 
Hortwell  Walk;  — it  is  coming!”  “But  you’ve 
kept  us  all  waiting  a confounded  time,”  said  his 
impatient  friend.  “It  is  that  good-natured  poor 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


39 


fellow  from  Bristol,  I protest,  that  has  brought  it 
me;  I’m  sure  I don’t  deserve  it  from  him,”  said 
Hal  to  himself,  when  he  saw  the  lad  with  the 
black  patch  on  his  eye  running,  quite  out  of 
breath,  towards  him  with  his  bow  and  arrows. 

“Fall  back,  my  good  friend;  fall  back,”  said 
the  military  lady,  as  soon  as  he  had  delivered  the 
bow  to  Hal;  “I  mean,  stand  out  of  the  way,  for 
your  great  patch  cuts  no  figure  amongst  us. 
Don’t  follow  so  close,  now,  as  if  you  belonged  to 
us,  pray.” 

The  poor  boy  had  no  ambition  to  partake  of 
the  triumph;  he  fell  back  as  soon  as  he  under- 
stood the  meaning  of  the  lady’s  words.  The 
drum  beat,  the  fife  played,  the  archers  marched, 
the  spectators  admired.  Hal  stepped  proudly, 
and  felt  as  if  the  eyes  of  the  whole  universe  were 
upon  his  epaulets,  or  upon  the  facings  of  his 
uniform;  whilst  all  the  time  he  was  considered 
only  as  part  of  a show. 

The  walk  appeared  much  shorter  than  usual, 
and  he  was  extremely  sorry  that  Lady  Diana, 
when  they  were  half-way  up  the  hill  leading  to 
Prince’s  Place,  mounted  her  horse,  because  the 
road  was  dirty,  and  all  the  gentlemen  and  ladies 
who  accompanied  her  followed  her  example. 

“We  can  leave  the  children  to  walk,  you  know,” 
said  she  to  the  gentleman  who  helped  her  to 
mount  her  horse.  “ I must  call  to  some  of  them, 
though,  and  leave  orders  where  they  are  to  join.” 


40 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


She  beckoned ; and  Hal,  who  was  foremost, 
and  proud  to  show  his  alacrity,  ran  on  to  receive 
her  ladyship’s  orders.  Now,  as  we  have  before 
observed,  it  was  a sharp  and  windy  day ; and 
though  Lady  Diana  Sweepstakes  was  actually 
speaking  to  him,  and  looking  at  him,  he  could 
not  prevent  his  nose  from  wanting  to  be  blowed: 
he  pulled  out  his  handkerchief,  and  out  rolled 
the  new  ball  which  had  been  given  to  him  just 
before  he  left  home,  and  which,  according  to  his 
usual  careless  habits,  he  had  stuffed  into  his  pock- 
et in  his  hurry.  “Oh,  my  new  ball!”  cried  he, 
as  he  ran  after  it.  As  he  stooped  to  pick  it  up, 
he  let  go  his  hat,  which  he  had  hitherto  held  on 
with  anxious  care;  for  the  hat,  though  it  had  a 
fine  green  and  white  cockade,  had  no  band  or 
string  round  it.  The  string,  as  we  may  recollect, 
our  wasteful  hero  had  used  in  spinning  his  top. 
The  hat  was  too  large  for  his  head  without  this 
band;  a sudden  gust  of  wind  blew  it  off.  Lady 
Diana’s  horse  started  and  reared.  She  was  a 
famous  horsewoman,  and  sat  him  to  the  admira- 
tion of  all  beholders;  but  there  was  a puddle  of 
red  clay  and  water  in  this  spot,  and  her  ladyship’s 
uniform-habit  was  a sufferer  by  the  accident. 
“Careless  brat!”  said  she,  “why  can't  he  keep  his 
hat  upon  his  head?”  In  the  meantime  the  wind 
blew  the  hat  down  the  hill,  and  Hal  ran  after  it, 
amidst  the  laughter  of  his  kind  friends,  the  young 
Sweepstakes,  and  the  rest  of  the  little  regiment. 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


4i 


The  hat  was  lodged,  at  length,  upon  a bank. 
Hal  pursued  it;  he  thought  this  bank  was  hard, 
but,  alas!  the  moment  he  set  his  foot  upon  it  the 
foot  sank.  He  tried  to  draw  it  back;  his  other 
foot  slipped,  and  he  fell  prostrate,  in  his  green 
and  white  uniform,  into  the  treacherous  bed  of 
red  mud.  His  companions,  who  had  halted  upon 
the  top  of  the  hill,  stood  laughing  spectators  of 
his  misfortune. 

It  happened  that  the  poor  boy  with  the  black 
patch  upon  his  eye,  who  had  been  ordered  by 
Lady  Diana  to  “fall  back,”  and  to  “keep  at  a dis- 
tance,” was  now  coming  up  the  hill;  and  the  mo- 
ment he  saw  our  fallen  hero  he  hastened  to  his 
assistance.  He  dragged  poor  Hal,  who  was  a 
deplorable  spectacle,  out  of  the  red  mud.  The 
obliging  mistress  of  a lodging-house,  as  soon  as 
she  understood  that  the  young  gentleman  was 
nephew  to  Mr.  Gresham,  to  whom  she  had  for- 
merly let  her  house,  received  Hal,  covered  as  he 
was  with  dirt. 

The  poor  Bristol  lad  hastened  to  Mr.  Gresham’s 
for  clean  stockings  and  shoes  for  Hal.  He  was 
unwilling  to  give  up  his  uniform;  it  was  rubbed 
and  rubbed,  and  a spot  here  and  there  was 
washed  out;  and  he  kept  continually  repeating, 
“When  it’s  dry  it  will  all  brush  off — -when  it’s 
dry  it  will  all  brush  off,  won’t  it?”  But  soon  the 
fear  of  being  too  late  at  the  archery-meeting  be- 
gan to  balance  the  dread  of  appearing  in  his 


42  Waste  Not,  Want  Not 

stained  habiliments;  and  he  now  as  anxiously  re- 


•fnftiri.nl  i,' 


“He  dragged  poor  Hal  . . . out  of  the  red  mud.” 


peated,  whilst  the  woman  held  the  wet  coat  to 
the  fire,  “Oh,  I shall  be  too  late;  indeed  I shall 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


43 


be  too  late;  make  haste;  it  will  never  dry;  hold 
it  nearer  — nearer  to  the  fire.  I shall  lose  my 
turn  to  shoot;  oh,  give  me  the  coat;  I don’t  mind 
how  it  is,  if  I can  but  get  it  on.” 

Holding  it  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  fire  dried 
it  quickly,  to  be  sure ; but  it  shrunk  it  also,  so  that 
it  was  no  easy  matter  to  get  the  coat  on  again. 
However,  Hal,  who  did  not  see  the  red  splashes, 
which,  in  spite  of  all  these  operations,  were  too 
visible  upon  his  shoulders  and  upon  the  skirts  of 
his  white  coat  behind,  was  pretty  well  satisfied 
to  observe  that  there  was  not  one  spot  upon  the 
facings.  “Nobody,”  said  he,  “will  take  notice  of 
my  coat  behind,  I dare  say.  I think  it  looks  as 
smart  almost  as  ever!”  — and  under  this  persua- 
sion our  young  archer  resumed  his  bow, — his 
bow  with  green  ribbons,  now  no  more! — and  he 
pursued  his  way  to  the  Downs. 

All  his  companions  were  far  out  of  sight.  “ I 
suppose,”  said  he  to  his  friend  with  the  black 
patch,  — “I  suppose  my  uncle  and  Ben  had  left 
home  before  you  went  for  the  shoes  and  stock- 
ings for  me?”  “Oh  yes,  sir;  the  butler  said  they 
had  been  gone  to  the  Downs  a matter  of  a good 
half-hour  or  more.” 

Hal  trudged  on  as  fast  as  he  possibly  could. 
When  he  got  upon  the  Downs,  he  saw  numbers 
of  carriages,  and  crowds  of  people,  all  going  to- 
wards the  place  of  meeting  at  the  Ostrich.  He 
pressed  forward.  He  was  at  first  so  much  afraid 


44 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


of  being  late  that  he  did  not  take  notice  of  the 
mirth  his  motley  appearance  excited  in  all  be- 
holders. At  length  he  reached  the  appointed 
spot.  There  was  a great  crowd  of  people.  In 
the  midst  he  heard  Lady  Diana’s  loud  voice  bet- 
ting upon  some  one  who  was  just  going  to  shoot 
at  the  mark. 

“So  then  the  shooting  is  begun,  is  it?”  said 
Hal.  “Oh,  let  me  in!  pray  let  me  into  the  circle! 
I’m  one  of  the  archers — I am,  indeed;  don’t  you 
see  my  green  and  white  uniform?” 

“Your  red  and  white  uniform,  you  mean,”  said 
the  man  to  whom  he  addressed  himself;  and  the 
people,  as  they  opened  a passage  for  him,  could 
not  refrain  from  laughing  at  the  mixture  of  dirt 
and  finery  which  it  exhibited.  In  vain,  when  he 
got  into  the  midst  of  the  formidable  circle,  he 
looked  to  his  friends,  the  young  Sweepstakes,  for 
their  countenance  and  support.  They  were 
amongst  the  most  unmerciful  of  the  laughers. 
Lady  Diana  also  seemed  more  to  enjoy  than  to 
pity  his  confusion. 

“Why  could  you  not  keep  your  hat  upon  your 
head,  man?”  said  she,  in  her  masculine  tone. 
“You  have  been  almost  the  ruin  of  my  poor  uni- 
form-habit; but  I’ve  escaped  rather  better  than 
you  have.  Don't  stand  there,  in  the  middle  of 
the  circle,  or  you'll  have  an  arrow  in  your  eyes 
just  now,  I've  a notion.” 

Hal  looked  round  in  search  of  better  friends. 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


45 


“Oh,  where  s my  uncle?  — where’s  Ben?”  said 
he.  He  was  in  such  confusion  that,  amongst  the 
number  of  faces,  he  could  scarcely  distinguish 
one  from  another;  but  he  felt  somebody  at  this 
moment  pull  his  elbow,  and,  to  his  great  relief, 
he  heard  the  friendly  voice,  and  saw  the  good- 
natured  face  of  his  cousin  Ben. 

“Come  back;  come  behind  these  people,”  said 

Ben;  “and  put  on  my  great-coat;  here  it  is  for 
>> 

you. 

Right  glad  was  Hal  to  cover  his  disgraced  uni- 
form with  the  rough  great-coat  which  he  had  for- 
merly despised.  He  pulled  the  stained,  drooping 
cockade  out  of  his  unfortunate  hat;  and  he  was 
now  sufficiently  recovered  from  his  vexation  to 
give  an  intelligible  account  of  his  accident  to  his 
uncle  and  Patty,  who  anxiously  inquired  what  had 
detained  him  so  long,  and  what  had  been  the 
matter.  In  the  midst  of  the  history  of  his  dis- 
aster, he  was  just  proving  to  Patty  that'  his  tak- 
ing the  hat-band  to  spin  his  top  had  nothing  to 
do  with  his  misfortune,  and  he  was  at  the  same 
time  endeavoring  to  refute  his  uncle’s  opinion 
that  the  waste  of  the  whip-cord  that  tied  the  par- 
cel was  the  original  cause  of  all  his  evils,  when 
he  was  summoned  to  try  his  skill  with  his  famous 
bow. 

“My  hands  are  benumbed;  I can  scarcely  feel,” 
said  he,  rubbing  them,  and  blowing  upon  the 
ends  of  his  fingers. 


46 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


“Come,  come,”  cried  young  Sweepstakes, — 
“I’m  within  one  inch  of  the  mark;  who’ll  go 
nearer,  I shall  like  to  see.  Shoot  away,  Hal;  but 
first  understand  our  laws ; we  settled  them  before 
you  came  upon  the  green.  You  are  to  have  three 
shots,  with  your  own  bow  and  your  own  arrows; 
and  nobody’s  to  borrow  or  lend  under  pretence 
of  other  bows  being  better  or  worse,  or  under 
any  pretence.  Do  you  hear,  Hal?” 

This  young  gentleman  had  good  reasons  for 
being  so  strict  in  these  laws,  as  he  had  observed 
that  none  of  his  companions  had  such  an  excel- 
lent bow  as  he  had  provided  for  himself.  Some 
of  the  boys  had  forgotten  to  bring  more  than  one 
arrow  with  them,  and  by  his  cunning  regulation 
that  each  person  should  shoot  with  their  own 
arrows,  many  had  lost  one  or  two  of  their  shots. 

“You  are  a lucky  fellow;  you  have  your  three 
arrows,”  said  young  Sweepstakes.  “Come,  we 
can't  wait  whilst  you  rub  your  fingers,  man ; — 
shoot  away.” 

Hal  was  rather  surprised  at  the  asperity  with 
which  his  friend  spoke.  He  little  knew  how  eas- 
ily acquaintances,  who  call  themselves  friends,  can 
change,  when  their  interest  comes  in  the  slight- 
est degree  in  competition  with  their  friendship. 
Hurried  by  his  impatient  rival,  and  with  his 
hands  so  much  benumbed  that  he  could  scarcely 
feel  how  to  fix  the  arrow  in  the  string,  he  drew 
the  bow.  The  arrow  was  within  a quarter  of  an 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


47 


inch  of  Master  Sweepstakes’  mark,  which  was 
the  nearest  that  had  yet  been  hit.  Hal  seized 


“Drew  from  his  pocket  an  excellent  piece  of  whip-cord.” 


his  second  arrow.  “If  I have  any  luck,”  said  he  — 
But  just  as  pronounced  the  word  luck,  and  as  he 


48 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


bent  his  bow,  the  string  broke  in  two,  and  the 
bow  fell  from  his  hands. 

“There,  it’s  all  over  with  you!”  cried  Master 
Sweepstakes,  with  a triumphant  laugh. 

“Here’s  my  bow  for  him,  and  welcome,”  said 
Ben.  “No,  no,  sir,”  said  Master  Sweepstakes, 
“that  is  not  fair;  that’s  against  the  regulation. 
You  may  shoot  with  your  own  bow,  if  you  choose 
it,  or  you  may  not,  just  as  you  think  proper;  but 
you  must  not  lend  it,  sir.” 

It  was  now  Ben’s  turn  to  make  his  trial.  His 
first  arrow  was  not  successful.  His  second  was 
exactly  as  near  as  Hal’s  first.  “You  have  but  one 
more,”  said  Master  Sweepstakes;  now  for  it!” 
Ben,  before  he  ventured  his  last  arrow,  prudently 
examined  the  string  of  his  bow ; and  as  he  pulled 
it  to  try  its  strength,  it  cracked.  Master  Sweep- 
stakes  clapped  his  hands  with  loud  exultations 
and  insulting  laughter.  But  his  laughter  ceased 
when  our  provident  hero  calmly  drew  from  his 
pocket  an  excellent  piece  of  whip-cord. 

“The  everlasting  whip-cord,  I declare!”  ex- 
claimed Hal,  when  he  saw  that  it  was  the  very 
same  that  had  tied  up  the  parcel.  “Yes,”  said 
Ben,  as  he  fastened  it  to  his  bow,  I put  it  into  my 
pocket  to-day  on  purpose,  because  I thought  I 
might  happen  to  want  it.”  He  drew  his  bow  the 
third  and  last  time. 

“Oh,  papa!”  cried  little  Patty,  as  his  arrow  hit 
the  mark,  “it’s  the  nearest;  is  it  not  the  nearest?” 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not  49 

Master  Sweepstakes,  with  anxiety  examined 


••  He  drew  his  bow  the  third  and  last  time.” 


the  hit.  There  could  be  no  doubt.  Ben  was  vic- 
torious ! The  bow,  the  prize-bow,  was  now  deliv- 


50 


Waste  Not,  Want  Not 


ered  to  him;  and  Hal,  as  he  looked  at  the  whip- 
cord, exclaimed,  — 

“How  lucky  this  whip-cord  has  been  to  you, 
Ben!” 

“It  is  lucky,  perhaps  you  mean,  that  he  took 
care  of  it,”  said  Mr.  Gresham. 

“Aye,”  said  Hal,  “very  true;  he  might  well 
say,  ‘Waste  not,  want  not.’  It  is  a good  thing 
to  have  two  strings  to  one’s  bow.” 


THE  DISCONTENTED  PENDULUM 

By  Jane  Taylor 


AN  old  clock,  that  had  stood  for  fifty  years  in 
a farmer’s  kitchen  without  Mvingf  its  owner 

O O 

any  cause  of  complaint,  early  one  summer  ’s  morn- 


‘:An  old  clock  . . . suddenly  stopped.” 

ing,  before  the  family  was  stirring,  suddenly 

51 


52  The  Discontented  Pendulum 

stopped.  Upon  this  the  dial-plate  (if  we  may 
credit  the  fable)  changed  countenance  with  alarm; 
the  hands  made  an  ineffectual  effort  to  continue 
their  course ; the  wheels  remained  motionless 
with  surprise;  the  weights  hung  speechless; 
each  member  felt  disposed  to  lay  the  blame  on 


“The  dial  instituted  a formal  inquiry.” 

the  others.  At  length  the  dial  instituted  a 
formal  inquiry  into  the  cause  of  the  stagnation; 
when  hands,  wheels,  weights,  with  one  voice  pro- 
tested their  innocence.  But  now  a faint  tick  was 
heard  below,  from  the  pendulum,  who  thus 
spoke : — - 


The  Discontented  Pendulum 


53 


“I  confess  myself  to  be  the  sole  cause  of  the 
present  stoppage;  and  am  willing,  for  the  general 
satisfaction,  to  assign  my  reasons.  The  truth 
is,  that  I am  tired  of  ticking.”  Upon  hearing 
this,  the  old  clock  became  so  enraged  that  it  was 
on  the  point  of  striking . 

“Lazy  wire!”  exclaimed  the  dial-plate,  holding 
up  its  hands. 

“Very  good,”  replied  the  Pendulum,  “it  is  vastly 
easy  for  you,  Mis- 
tress Dial,  who 
have  always,  as 
everybody  knows, 
set  yourself  up 
above  me  — it  is 
vastly  easy  for  you, 

I say,  to  accuse 
other  people  of 
laziness!  You  who 
have  nothing  to  do 
all  your  life  but  to 
stare  people  in  the 
face,  and  to  amuse 
yourself  with 
watching  all  that 
goes  on  in  the  kitchen!  Think,  I beseech  you, 
how  you  would  like  to  be  shut  up  for  life  in  this 
dark  closet,  and  wag  backwards  and  forwards 
year  after  year,  as  I do.” 

“As  to  that,”  said  the  dial,  “is  there  not  a win- 


•I  am  tired  of  ticking.” 


54 


The  Discontented  Pendulum 


dow  in  your  house  on  purpose  for  you  to  look 
through  ? ” 

“For  all  that,”  resumed  the  pendulum,  “it  is 
very  dark  here;  and  although  there  is  a window, 
I dare  not  stop,  even  for  an  instant,  to  look  out. 
Besides,  I am  really  weary  of  my  way  of  life;  and, 
if  you  please,  I’ll  tell  you  how  I took  this  disgust 
at  my  employment.  This  morning  I happened 
to  be  calculating  how  many  times  I should  have 
to  tick  in  the  course  only  of  the  next  twenty-four 
hours;  perhaps  some  of  you,  above  there,  can  tell 
me  the  exact  sum?”  The  minute-hand,  being 
quick  at  figures , instantly  replied,  “Eighty-six 
thousand  four  hundred  times.” 

“Exactly  so,”  replied  the  pendulum;  “well,  I 
appeal  to  you  all  if  the  thought  of  this  was  not 
enough  to  fatigue  one?  and  when  I began  to 
multiply  the  strokes  of  one  day  by  those  of 
months  and  years,  really  it  is  no  wonder  if  I 
felt  discouraged  at  the  prospect ; so,  after  a great 
deal  of  reasoning  and  hesitation,  thinks  I to  my- 
self — ‘ I’ll  stop!’ ” 

The  dial  could  scarcely  keep  its  countenance 
during  this  harangue;  but  resuming  its  gravity, 
thus  replied:  — 

“Dear  Mr.  Pendulum,  I am  really  astonished 
that  such  a useful,  industrious  person  as  yourself 
should  have  been  overcome  by  this  sudden  sug- 
gestion. It  is  true,  you  have  done  a great  deal  of 
work  in  your  time.  So  have  we  all,  and  are  likely 


The  Discontented  Pendulum 


55 


to  do;  and  although  this  may  fatigue  us  to  think 
of,  the  question  is,  whether  it  will  fatigue  us  to 
do;  would  you  now  do  me  the  favor  to  give 
about  half  a dozen  strokes,  to  illustrate  my  argu- 
ment ? ” 


The  pendulum  complied,  and  ticked  six  times 
at  its  usual  pace.  — “Now,”  resumed  the  dial, 
“may  I be  allowed  to  enquire  if  that  exertion 
was  at  all  fatiguing  or  disagreeable  to  you?” 
“Not  in  the  least,”  replied  the  pendulum;  “it 


56  The  Discontented  Pendulum 


is  not  of  six  strokes  that  I complain,  nor  of  sixty, 
but  of  millions'.' 

“Very  good,”  replied  the  dial;  “but  recollect 
that,  although  you  may  think  of  a million  strokes 
in  an  instant,  you  are  required  to  execute  but  one; 


and  that,  however  often  you  may  hereafter  have 
to  swing,  a moment  will  always  be  given  you  to 
swing  in. 

“That  consideration  staggers  me,  I confess,” 
said  the  pendulum. 


The  Discontented  Pendulum 


57 


“Then  I hope,”  added  the  dial-plate,  “we  shall 
all  immediately  return  to  our  duty;  for  the  maids 
will  lie  in  bed  till  noon  if  we  stand  idling  thus.” 
Upon  this  the  weights,  who  had  never  been 
accused  of  light  conduct,  used  all  their  influence 
in  urging  him  to  proceed;  when  as  with  one  con- 
sent, the  wheels  began  to  turn,  the  hands  began 
to  move,  the  pendulum  began  to  wag,  and,  to  its 
credit,  ticked  as  loud  as  ever;  while  a beam  of  the 
rising  sun,  that  streamed  through  a hole  in  the 
kitchen-shutter,  shining  full  upon  the  dial-plate, 
it  brightened  up  as  if  nothing  had  been  the  matter. 

When  the  farmer  came  down  to  breakfast,  he 
declared,  upon  looking  at  the  Clock,  that  his 
watch  had  gained  half  an  hour  in  the  night. 


ORDER  AND  DISORDER 

From  “Evenings  at  Home,”  by  Mrs.  Barbauld 

JULIET  was  a clever,  well-disposed  girl,  but 
apt  to  be  heedless. 

She  could  learn  her  lessons  very  well,  but  com- 
monly as  much  time  was  taken  up  in  getting  her 


“If  she  was  at  work  . . . about  on  the  floor.” 
58 


Order  and  Disorder 


59 


things  together  as  in  doing  what  she  was  set 
about. 

If  she  was  at  work,  there  was  generally  the 
housewife  to  seek  in  one  place,  and  the  thread- 
papers  in  another.  The  scissors  were  left  in  her 
pocket  upstairs,  and  the  thimble  was  rolling  about 
the  floor.  In  writing,  the  copybook  was  gener- 
ally missing,  the  ink  dried  up,  and  the  pens,  new 
and  old,  all  tumbled  about  the  cupboard.  The 
slate  and  slate-pencil  were  never  found  together. 
In  making  her  exercises,  the  English  dictionary 
always  came  to  hand  instead  of  the  French 
grammar;  and  when  she  was  to  read  a chapter, 
she  usually  got  hold  of  “Robinson  Crusoe,”  or 
the  “World  Displayed,”  instead  of  the  Testa- 
ment. 

Juliet’s  mamma  was  almost  tired  of  teaching  her, 
so  she  sent  her  to  make  a visit  to  an  old  lady  in 
the  country,  a very  good  woman,  but  rather  strict 
with  young  folks.  Here  she  was  shut  up  in  a room 
above  stairs  by  herself  after  breakfast  every  day, 
till  she  had  quite  finished  the  tasks  set  her. 

This  house  was  one  of  the  very  few  that  are 
still  haunted  by  fairies.  One  of  these,  whose 
name  was  Disorder,  took  a pleasure  in  plaguing 
poor  Juliet.  She  was  a frightful  figure  to  look 
a>t,  being  crooked  and  squint-eyed,  with  her  hair 
hanging  about  her  face,  and  her  dress  put  on  all 
awry,  and  full  of  rents  and  tatters. 

She  prevailed  on  the  old  lady  to  let  her  set 


6o 


Order  and  Disorder 


Juliet  her  tasks;  so  one  morning  she  came  up 
with  a workbag  full  of  threads  of  silk  of  all  sorts 


of  colors,  mixed  and  entangled  together,  and  a 
flower  very  nicely  wrorked  to  copy.  It  was  a 
pansy,  and  the  gradual  melting  of  its  hues  into 


“My  mistress  has  sent  you  a piece  of  work  to  do.” 


62 


Order  and  Disorder 


one  another  was  imitated  with  great  accuracy 
and  beauty.  “Here,  miss,”  said  she,  “my  mistress 
has  sent  you  a piece  of  work  to  do,  and  she  in- 
sists upon  having  it  done  before  you  come  down 
to  dinner.  You  will  find  all  the  materials  in  this 
bag.” . 

Juliet  took  the  flower  and  the  bag,  and  turned 
out  all  the  silks  upon  the  table.  She  slowly 
pulled  out  a red  and  a purple,  and  a blue  and 
a yellow,  and  at  length  fixed  upon^  one  to  be- 
gin working  with.  After  taking  two  or  three 
stitches,  and  looking  at  her  model,  she  found 
another  shade  was  wanted.  This  was  to  be 
hunted  out  from  the  bunch,  and  a long  while 
it  took  her  to  find  it.  It  was  soon  necessary  to 
change  it  for  another. 

Juliet  saw  that,  in  going  on  at  this  rate,  it 
would  take  days  instead  of  hours  to  work  the 
flower,  so  she  laid  down  the  needle  and  fell 
a-crying.  After  this  had  continued  some  time 
she  was  startled  at  the  sound  of  something  stamp- 
ing on  the  floor;  and  taking  her  handkerchief 
from  her  eyes,  she  spied  a diminutive  female  fig- 
ure advancing  toward  her.  She  was  upright  as 
an  arrow,  and  had  not  so  much  as  a hair  out  of 
its  place,  or  the  least  article  of  her  dress  rumpled 
or  discomposed. 

When  she  came  up  to  Juliet,  “My  dear,”  said 
she,  “I  heard  you  crying,  and  knowing  you  to  be 
a good  girl  in  the  main,  1 am  come  to  your  as- 


Order  and  Disorder 


63 


sistance.  My  name  is  Order:  your  mamma  is 
well  acquainted  with  me,  though  this  is  the  first 
time  you  ever  saw  me;  but  I hope  we  shall  know 
one  another  better  for  the  future.” 

She  then  jumped  upon  the  table,  and  with  a 
wand  gave  a tap  upon  the  heap  of  entangled 


“Juliet  laid  down  the  needle  and  fell  a-crying.” 

silk.  Immediately  the  threads  separated,  and 
arranged  themselves  in  a long  row  consisting  of 
little  skeins,  in  which  all  of  the  same  color  were 
collected  together,  those  approaching  nearest  in 
shade  being  placed  next  each  other.  This  done, 
she  disappeared. 

Juliet,  as  soon  as  her  surprise  was  over,  re- 
sumed her  work,  and  found  it  go  on  with  ease 
and  pleasure.  She  finished  the  flower  by  dinner- 


64 


Order  and  Disorder 


time,  and  obtained  great  praise  for  the  neatness 
of  the  execution. 


“The  threads  separated  and  arranged  themselves.” 


The  next  day  the  ill-natured  fairy  came  up, 
with  a great  book  under  her  arm.  “This,”  said 
she,  “is  my  mistress’  house-book,  and  she  says 


Order  and  Disorder 


65 


you  must  draw  out  against  dinner  an  exact  ac- 
count of  what  it  has  cost  her  last  year  in  all  the 


“Juliet  finished  the  flower  by  dinner-time.” 


articles  of  housekeeping,  including  clothes,  rent, 
taxes,  wages,  and  the  like.  You  must  state  sep- 
arately the  amount  of  every  article,  under  the 


66 


Order  and  Disorder 


heads  of  baker,  butcher,  milliner,  shoemaker, 
and  so  forth,  taking  special  care  not  to  miss  a 
single  thing  entered  down  in  the  book.  Here  is 
a quire  of  paper  and  a parcel  of  pens.”  So  say- 
ing, with  a malicious  grin,  she  left  her. 

Juliet  turned  pale  at  the  very  thought  of  the 
task  she  had  to  perform.  She  opened  the  great 
book,  and  saw  all  the  pages  closely  written,  but 
in  the  most  confused  manner  possible.  Here 
was,  “Paid  Mr.  Crusty  for  a week’s  bread  and 
baking,”  so  much.  Then,  “Paid  Mr.  Pinchtoe  for 
shoes,”  so  much.  “Paid  half  a year’s  rent,”  so 
much.  Then  came  a butcher’s  bill,  succeeded  by 
a milliner’s,  and  that  by  a tallow-chandler’s. 

“What  shall  I do?”  cried  poor  Juliet  — where 
am  I to  begin,  and  how  can  I possibly  pick  out 
all  these  things?  Was  ever  such  a tedious,  per- 
plexing task?  Oh  that  my  good  little  creature 
were  here  as;ain  with  her  wand!” 

She  had  but  just  uttered  these  words  when  the 
fairy  Order  stood  before  her.  “Don’t  be  star- 
tled, my  dear,”  said  she;  “I  knew  your  wish,  and 
made  haste  to  comply  with  it.  Let  me  see  your 
book.” 

She  turned  over  a few  leaves,  and  then  cried, 
“I  see  my  cross-grained  sister  has  played  you  a 
trick.  She  has  brought  you  the  daybook  instead 
of  the  ledger:  but  I will  set  the  matter  to  rights 
instantly.” 

She  vanished,  and  presently  returned  with  an- 


Order  and  Disorder 


67 


other  book,  in  which  she  showed  Juliet  every  one 
of  the  articles  required,  standing  at  the  tops  of 
the  pages,  and  all  the  particulars  entered  under 


“You  must  state  separately  the  amount  of  every  article.” 


them  from  the  daybook;  so  that  there  was  noth- 
ing for  her  to  do  but  cast  up  the  sums,  and 
copy  out  the  heads  with  their  amount  in  single 
lines. 


68 


Order  and  Disorder 


As  Juliet  was  a ready  accountant,  she  was  not 
long  in  finishing  the  business,  and  at  dinner  pro- 


duced her  account  neatly  written  on  one  sheet  of 
paper. 

The  next  day  Juliet’s  tormentor  brought  her 


Order  and  Disorder 


69 


up  a large  box  full  of  letters  stamped  upon  small 
bits  of  ivory,  capitals  and  common  letters  of  all 
sorts,  but  jumbled  together  promiscuously  as  if 
they  had  been  shaken  in  a bag. 

“Now,  miss,”  said  she,  “before  you  come  down 
to  dinner  you  must  exactly  copy  out  this  poem  in 
these  ivory  letters,  placing  them  line  by  line  on 
the  floor  of  your  room.” 

Juliet  thought  at  first  that  this  task  would  be 
pretty  sport  enough;  but  when  she  set  about  it 
she  found  such  trouble  in  hunting  out  the  letters 
she  wanted,  every  one  seeming  to  come  to  hand 
before  the  right  one,  that  she  proceeded  very 
slowly;  and  the  poem  being  a long  one,  it  was 
plain  that  night  would  come  before  it  was  fin- 
ished. Sitting  down  and  crying  for  her  kind 
friend  was,  therefore,  her  only  resource. 

Order  was  not  far  distant,  for,  indeed,  she  had 
been  watching  her  proceedings  all  the  while.  She 
made  herself  visible,  and  giving  a tap  on  the  let- 
ters with  her  wand,  they  immediately  arranged 
themselves  alphabetically  in  little  double  heaps, 
the  small  in  one,  and  the  great  in  the  other.  After 
this  operation  Juliet’s  task  went  on  with  such  ex- 
pedition that  she  called  up  the  old  lady  an  hour 
before  dinner  to  be  witness  to  its  completion. 

The  good  lady  kissed  her,  and  told  her  that  as 
she  hoped  she  was  now  made  fully  sensible  of  the 
benefits  of  order,  and  the  inconveniences  of  dis- 
order, she  would  not  confine  her  any  longer  to 


70 


Order  and  Disorder 


work  by  herself  at  set  tasks,  but  she  should  come 
and  sit  with  her. 

Juliet  took  such  pains  to  please  her  by  doing 
everything  with  the  greatest  neatness  and  regu- 
larity, and  reforming  all  her  careless  habits,  that 
when  she  was  sent  back  to  her  mother  the  follow- 


“You  must  exactly  copy  out  this  poem.” 


ing  presents  were  made  her,  constantly  to  remind 
her  of  the  beauty  and  advantage  of  order:  — 

A cabinet  of  English  coins,  in  which  all  the 
gold  and  silver  money  of  the  kings  was  arranged 
in  the  order  of  their  reigns. 

A set  of  plaster  casts  of  the  Roman  emperors. 


Order  and  Disorder 


71 


A cabinet  of  beautiful  shells,  displayed  accord- 
ing to  the  most  approved  system. 

A very  complete  box  of  water-colors,  and  an- 
other of  crayons,  sorted  in  all  the  shades  of  the 
primary  colors. 

And  a very  nice  housewife,  with  all  the  imple- 
ments belonging  to  a seamstress,  and  a good 
store  of  the  best  needles  in  sizes. 


The  first  thing  he  tried  was  the  head  of  Voltaire. 


THE  PHILOSOPHER’S  SCALES 

By  Jane  Taylor 


HAT  were  they?  — you  ask;  you  shall 


presently  see:  ' 

These  scales  were  not  made  to  weigh  sugar  and 
tea; 

O no;  — for  such  properties  wondrous  had  they, 
That  qualities,  feelings,  and  thoughts  they  could 
weigh ; 

Together  with  articles  small  or  immense, 

From  mountains  or  planets,  to  atoms  of  sense: 
Nought  was  there  so  bulky,  but  there  it  could  lay; 
And  nought  so  ethereal  but  there  it  would  stay; 
And  nought  so  reluctant  but  in  it  must  go ; 

All  which  some  examples  more  clearly  will  show. 

The  first  thing  he  tried  was  the  head  of  Voltaire , 
Which  retained  all  the  wit  that  had  ever  been 
there ; 

As  a weight,  he  threw  in  a torn  scrap  of  a leaf, 
Containing  the  prayer  of  the  penitent  thief; 
When  the  skull  rose  aloft  with  so  sudden  a spell, 
As  to  bound,  like  a ball,  to  the  roof  of  the  cell. 

Voltaire:  French  philosopher  and  wit,  who  was  profane  and 
flippant. 


-f 


73 


74 


The  Philosopher’s  Scales 


“Containing  the  prayer  of  the  penitent  thief.” 


Next  time  he  put  in  Alexander  the  Great , 

Alexander  the  Great:  the  Macedonian  king  who  is  said  to  have 
conquered  all  the  known  world  and  then  wept  because  there  were 
no  more  worlds  to  conquer. 


The  Philosopher’s  Scales 


75 


With  a garment  that  Dorcas  had  made  — for  a 
weight; 

Dorcas : a widow  told  of  in  Acts  ix,  36:  “full  of  good  works 
and  almsdeeds  which  she  did.” 


7<5 


The  Philosopher’s  Scales 


“Next  time  he  put  in  Alexander  the  Great  '' 


And  tho’  clad  in  armor  from  sandals  to  crown, 
The  hero  rose  up,  and  the  garment  went  down. 
A long  row  of  almshouses,  amply  endow’d 
By  a well-esteem'd  pharisee,  busy  and  proud, 
Now  loaded  one  scale,  while  the  other  was  prest 


The  Philosopher’s  Scales 


77 


By  those  mites  the  poor  widow  dropped  into  the 
chest; — 

Up  flew  the  endowment,  not  weighing  an  ounce, 


78  The  Philosopher’s  Scales 

And  down,  down,  the  farthing’s  worth  came  with 
a bounce. 

Again,  he  performed  an  experiment  rare: 

A monk,  with  austerities  bleeding  and  bare, 
Climbed  into  his  scale;  in  the  other  was  laid 
The  heart  of  our  Howard , now  partly  decayed; 
When  he  found,  with  surprise,  that  the  whole  of 
his  brother 

Weigh’d  less,  by  some  pounds,  than  this  bit  of 
the  other. 

By  farther  experiments  (no  matter  how), 

He  found  that  ten  chariots  weighed  less  than  one 
plough. 

A sword,  with  gilt  trappings,  rose  up  in  the  scale, 
Though  balanced  by  only  a ten-penny  nail: 

A shield  and  a helmet,  a buckler  and  spear, 
Weighed  less  than  a widow’s  uncrystallized  tear. 

A lord  and  a lady  went  up  at  full  sail, 

When  a bee  chanced  to  light  on  the  opposite 
scale. 

Ten  doctors,  ten  lawyers,  two  courtiers,  one  earl, 
Ten  counsellor’s  wigs,  full  of  powder  and  curl, 
All  heaped  in  one  balance,  and  swinging  from 
thence, 

austerities : harsh  discipline. 

Howard:  the  philanthropist  whose  labors  greatly  improved 
the  awful  conditions  under  which  people  were  imprisoned  a cen- 
tury ago. 


The  Philosopher’s  Scales 


79 


Weighed  less  than  some  atoms  of  candor  and 
sense; — 

A first-water  diamond,  with  brilliants  begirt, 


8o 


The  Philosopher's  Scales 


“It  made  a vast  rent.” 

Than  one  good  potato,  just  washed  from  the 
dirt; 

Yet,  not  mountains  of  silver  and  gold  would 
suffice, 


The  Philosopher’s  Scales 


One  pearl  to  outweigh  — ’twas  the  “pearl  of 
great  price.” 

At  last  the  whole  world  was  bowl'd  in  at  the 
grate; 

With  the  soul  of  a beggar  to  serve  for  a weight, 

When  the  former  sprang  up  with  so  strong  a 
rebuff, 

That  it  made  a vast  rent,  and  escaped  at  the  roof; 

Whence,  balanced  in  air,  it  ascended  on  high, 

And  sailed  up  aloft,  a balloon  in  the  sky; 

While  the  scale,  with  the  soul  in,  so  mightily  fell, 

That  it  jerk’d  the  philosopher  out  of  his  cell. 


NOTE 


The  stories  grouped  together  in  this  volume  are  among  those 
written  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  and  the  beginning  of  the 
nineteenth  century  which  have  continued  to  be  favorites  down  to 
the  present  time  and  are  treasured  in  the  memory  of  the  parents 
of  many  of  us,  and  of  the  grandparents  of  nearly  all. 

At  the  time  they  were  written  the  young  people  of  this  country 
depended  almost  entirely  upon  English  writers  for  their  story 
books ; for  men  and  women  were  too  much  occupied  with  the 
business  of  freeing  America  from  English  misgovernment  and 
arranging  their  own  more  important  public  affairs  to  find  time 
to  write  books  for  the  little  folk. 

So  they  reprinted  the  English  books  almost  as  fast  as  they 
appeared  and  had  received  any  marks  of  popular  approval  in  the 
country  of  their  origin ; and  for  many  years  there  were  very  few 
Americans  who  concerned  themselves  with  writing  books  for  the 
young. 

All  of  this  is  changed  now,  and  American  children  are  not 
only  the  happy  inheritors  of  the  best  of  the  world’s  literature,  but 
the  best  brains  of  their  countrymen  and  countrywomen  are  con- 
stantly employed  in  writing  books  for  them. 

It  is  well,  however,  to  keep  these  old-time  stories  alive : these 
pictures  of  the  past  are  interesting  and  instructive ; their  teaching, 
if  sometimes  insisted  on  too  plainly  for  artistic  effect,  is  always 
direct,  simple  and  good,  and  their  style,  if  sometimes  a little 
stilted  and  didactic  to  modern  ears,  is  a welcome  relief  from  the 
jerky  and  ill-considered  phraseology  which  characterizes  some  of 
the  books  which  young  people  get  hold  of  nowadays. 

In  the  course  of  her  long  and  busy  career,  Maria  Edgeworth 
wrote  a great  many  stories  for  boys  and  girls.  Among  the  most 
popular  as  well  as  the  most  characteristic  is  that  entitled  Waste 
Not,  Want  Not.  She  lived  from  1767  to  1849,  and  her  novels  de- 
picting Irish  life  and  character  during  the  closing  half  of  the 

83 


84 


Note 


eighteenth  century  have  received  high  praise  from  many  famous 
men  and  women.  They  are  said  to  be  more  true  to  life  than  the 
rollicking,  exaggerated,  and  amusing  fiction  of  the  Charles 
Lever  school. 

She  was  a woman  of  remarkable  vigor  of  character.  She 
refused  to  marry  the  man  she  loved  because  she  did  not  think  it 
right  to  leave  her  friends,  her  parents,  and  her  country.  She  had 
the  courage  to  begin  the  study  of  the  Spanish  language  when  she 
was  seventy  years  old. 

The  story  of  Waste  Not,  Want  Not  is  taken  from  a collection 
entitled  The  Parent’s  Assistant.  These  tales  were  first  of  all 
written  on  a slate,  and  if  they  were  approved  by  the  very 
large  family  of  which  the  author  was  a member,  they  were 
copied  and  added  to  the  collection.  A great  deal  of  the  work 
thus  subjected  to  the  test  of  the  children’s  criticism  proved  for 
a long  time  very  popular.  Maria  Edgeworth  was  thus  enabled 
to  write  from  the  child’s  point  of  view,  and  in  simple  direct 
language  suited  to  their  comprehension.  As  compared  with  the 
characters  in  the  books  published  during  the  fifty  years  preceding 
their  advent,  Maria  Edgeworth’s  were  real  children,  and  not  mere 
lay  figures  named  to  represent  them,  or  pegs  upon  which  to  hang 
appropriate  moral  and  religious  sentiments.  Moreover,  they  were 
generally  well-bred  and  reasonable  children,  who  were  early 
taught  patience,  self-control,  and. the  necessity  of  bearing  the  con- 
sequences of  their  follies  and  mistakes  — three  important  lessons 
which  can  never  be  without  their  effect  in  after-life.  All  of  her 
stories  contain  some  verjr  strong  and  direct  moral  teaching,  but  it 
is  rarely  so  obtruded  as  to  rob  the  tale  of  its  living  human 
interest. 

The  stories  by  Jane  Taylor,  The  Discontented  Pendulum, 
and  The  Philosopher’s  Scales,  are  in  very  much  the  same  vein 
and  the  same  style.  They  were  written  at  about  the  same  period 
as  Mrs.  Edgeworth’s  stories  and  appear  in  a volume  entitled, 
The  Contributions  of  Q.  Q.  The  writer  is  best  known  as  the 
author  of  Original  Poems  and  Hymns  for  Infant  Minds,  some 
verses  in  which  are  among  the  best-known  poems  for  young 
children. 


C.  W. 


Heath’s  Home  and  School  Classics 


Large  Type.  Good  Paper.  Many  Illustrations.  Durable  Binding. 


Aiken  and  Barbauld’s  Eyes  and  No  Eyes,  and  Other  Stories.  (M.  V.  O’Shea.)  Paper, 
io  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Ayrton’s  Child  Life  in  Japan.  (W.  Elliot  Griffis.)  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Brown’s  Rab  and  His  Friends  and  Stories  of  Our  Dogs.  (T.  M.  Balliet.)  Paper,  10 
cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Browne’s  The  Wonderful  Chair  and  the  Tales  it  Told.  (M.  V.  O’Shea.)  Two  parts. 
Paper,  each  part,  10  cents  ; cloth,  two  parts  bound  in  one,  30  cents. 

Craik’s  So  Fat  and  Mew  Mew.  (Lucy  Wheelock.)  Paper,  10  cents ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Crib  and  Fly:  A Tale  of  Two  Terriers.  (C.  F.  Dole.)  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Defoe’s  Robinson  Crusoe.  (Edward  Everett  Hale.)  Four  parts.  Paper,  each  part,  15 
cents  ; cloth,  four  parts  in  one,  50  cents. 

Edgeworth’s  Waste  Not,  Want  Not,  and  Other  Stories.  (M.  V.  O’Shea.)  Paper,  10 
cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Ewing’s  Jackanapes.  (W.  P.  Trent.)  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Ewing’s  The  Story  of  a Short  Life.  (T.  M.  Balliet.)  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Goody  Two  Shoes,  attributed  to  Goldsmith.  (C.  Welsh.)  Paper,  10  cents;  cloth,  20  cents. 

Gulliver’s  Travels.  I.  A Voyage  to  Lilliput.  II.  A Voyage  to  Brobdingnag.  (T.  M. 
Balliet.)  Paper,  each  part,  15  cents  ; cloth,  two  parts  bound  in  one,  30  cents. 

Hamerton’s  Chapters  on  Animals:  Dogs,  Cats  and  Horses.  (W.  P.  Trent.)  Paper,  15 
cents  ; cloth,  25  cents. 

Ingelow’s  Three  Fairy  Stories.  (C.  F.  Dole.)  Paper,  10  cents;  cloth,  20  cents. 

Irving’s  Dolph Heyliger.  (G.  H.  Browne.)  Paper,  15  cents;  cloth,  25  cents. 

Lamb’s  Tales  from  Shakespeare.  (E.  S.  Phelps  Ward.)  Three  parts.  Paper,  each 
part,  15  cents  ; cloth,  three  parts  boundjn  one,  40  cents. 

Lamb’s  The  Adventures  of  Ulysses.  (W.  P.  Trent.)  Paper,  15  cents  ; cloth,  25  cents. 

Martineau’s  The  Crofton  Boys.  (W.  Elliot  Griffis.)  Two  parts.  Paper,  each  part,  10 
cents  ; cloth,  two  parts  bound  in  one,  30  cents. 

Mother  Goose.  (C.  Welsh.)  In  two  parts.  Paper,  each  part,  10  cents;  cloth,  two  parts 
bound  in  one,  30  cents. 

Motley’s  The  Siege  of  Leyden.  (W.  Elliot  Griffis.)  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Muloch’s  The  Little  Lame  Prince.  (E.  S.  Phelps  Ward.)  Two  parts.  Paper,  each 
part,  10  cents  ; cloth,  two  parts  bound  in  one,  30  cents. 

Ruskin’s  The  King  of  the  Golden  River.  (M.  V.  O’Shea.)  Paper,  10  cents;  cloth,  20 
cents. 

Segur’s  The  Story  of  a Donkey.  (C.  F.  Dole.)  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Shakespeare’s  Comedy  of  Errors.  (Sarah  W.  Hiestand.)  Paper,  15  cents  ; cloth,  25  cents. 

Shakespeare’s  The  Tempest.  (Sarah  W.  Hiestand.)  Paper,  15  cents;  cloth,  25  cents. 

Shakespeare’s  The  Winter’s  Tale.  (Sarah  W.  Hiestand.)  Paper,  15  cents;  cloth,  25 
cents. 

Shakespeare’s  A Midsummer  Night’s  Dream.  (Sarah  W.  Hiestand.)  Paper,  15  cents; 
cloth,  25  cents. 

Six  Nursery  Classics.  (M.  V.  O’Shea.)  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Tales  from  the  Travels  of  Baron  Munchausen.  (Edward  Everett  Hale.)  Paper,  10 
cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Thackeray’s  The  Rose  and  the  Ring.  (Edward  Everett  Hale.)  Paper,  15  cents;  cloth, 
25  cents. 

Trimmer’s  The  History  of  the  Robins.  (Edward  Everett  Hale.)  Paper,  10  cents; 
cloth,  20  cents. 

See  also  our  list  0/  books  for  Supplementary  Reading. 

D.  C.  HEATH  & CO.,  Publishers,  Boston,  NewYork,  Chicago 


Heath's  Home  and  School  Classics 


FOR  GRADES  I AND  II. 

Mother  Goose  : A Book  of  Nursery  Rhymes,  arranged  by  C.  Welsh.  In  two  parts.  Illus- 
trated by  Clara  E.  Atwood.  Paper,  each  part,  io  cents  : cloth,  two  parts  bound  in  one, 
30  cents. 

Craik’s  So  Fat  and  Mew  Mew.  Introduction  by  Lucy  M.  Wheelock.  Illustrated  by 
C.  M.  Howard.  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Six  Nursery  Classics  : The  House  That  Jack  Built;  Mother  Hubbard:  Cock  Robin; 
The  Old  Woman  and  Her  Pig;  Dame  Wiggins  of  Lee,  and  the  Three  Bears.  Edited 
by  M.  V.  O’Shea.  Illustrated  by  Ernest  Fosbery.  Paper,  10  cents ; cloth,  20  cents. 

FOR  GRADES  II  AND  III. 

Crib  and  Fly  : A Tale  of  Two  Terriers.  Edited  by  Charles  F.  Dole.  Illustrated  by 
Gwendoline  Sandham.  Paper,  10  cents ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Goody  Two  Shoes.  Attributed  to  Oliver  Goldsmith.  Edited  by  Charles  Welsh.  With 
twenty-eight  illustrations  after  the  wood-cuts  in  the  original  edition  of  1765.  Paper, 
10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Segur’s  The  story  of  a Donkey.  Translated  by  C.  Welsh.  Edited  by  Charles  F.  Dole. 
Illustrated  by  E.  H.  Saunders.  Paper,  io  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

FOR  GRADES  III  AND  IV. 

Trimmer’s  The  History  of  the  Robins.  Edited  by  Edward  Everett  Hale.  Illustrated 
by  C.  M.  Howard.  Paper,  10  cents ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Aiken  and  Barbauld’s  Eyes  and  No  Eyes,  and  Other  Stories.  Edited  by  M.  V.  O’Shea. 

Illustrated  by  H.  P.  Barnes  and  C.  M.  Howard.  Paper,  10  cents ; cloth,  20  cents. 
Edgeworth’s  Waste  Not,  Want  Not,  and  Other  Stories.  Edited  by  M.  V.  O’Shea. 
Illustrated  by  W.  P.  Bodwell.  Paper,  ro  cents ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Ruskin’s  The  King  of  the  Golden  River.  Edited  by  M.  V.  O’Shea.  Illustrated  by 
Sears  Gallagher.  Paper,  10  cents ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Browne’s  The  Wonderful  Chair  and  The  Tales  It  Told.  Edited  by  M.  V.  O’Shea. 
Illustrated  by  Clara  E.  Atwood  after  Mrs.  Seymour  Lucas.  In  two  parts.  Paper,  each 
part,  10  cents ; cloth,  two  parts  bound  in  one,  30  cents. 

FOR  GRADES  IV  AND  V. 

Thackeray’s  The  Rose  and  the  Ring.  A Fairy  Tale.  Edited  by  Edward  Everett  Hale. 

Illustrations  by  Thackeray.  Paper,  15  cents ; cloth,  25  cents. 

Ingelow’s  Three  Fairy  Stories.  Edited  by  Charles  F.  Dole.  Illustrated  by  E.  Ripley. 
Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Ayrton’s  Child  Life  in  Japan  and  Japanese  Child  Stories.  Edited  by  William  Elliot 
Griffis.  Illustrated  by  Japanese  Artists.  Paper,  10  cents ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Ewing’s  Jackanapes.  Edited  by  W.  P.  Trent.  Illustrated  by  Josephine  Bruce.  Paper, 
10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Muloch’s  The  Little  Lame  Prince.  Preface  by  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps  Ward.  Illus- 
trated by  Miss  E.  B.  Barry.  In  two  parts.  Paper,  each  part,  10  cents;  cloth,  two  parts 
bound  in  one,  30  cents. 


(over.) 


Heath’s  Home  and  School  Classics  — Continued. 


FOR  GRADES  V AND  VI. 

Lamb’s  The  Adventures  of  Ulysses.  Edited  by  W.  P.  Trent  Illustrations  after  Flax- 
man.  Paper,  15  cents ; cloth,  25  cents. 

Gulliver’s  Travels.  I.  A Voyage  to  Lilliput.  II.  A Voyage  to  Brobdingnag.  Edited 
by  T.  M.  Balliet.  Fully  illustrated.  In  two  parts.  Paper,  each  part,  15  cents;  cloth, 
two  parts  bound  in  one,  30  cents. 

Ewing’s  The  Story  of  a Short  Life.  Edited  by  T.  M.  Balliet.  Illustrated  by  A.  F. 
Schmitt.  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Tales  From  the  Travels  of  Baron  Munchausen.  Edited  by  Edward  Everett  Hale.  Illus- 
trated by  H.  P.  Barnes  after  Dord.  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

Defoe’s  Robinson  Crusoe.  Edited  by  Edward  Everett  Hale.  Illustrated.  In  four 
parts.  Paper,  each  part,  13  cents  ; cloth,  four  parts  bound  in  one,  50  cents. 

FOR  GRADES  VI  AND  VII. 

Lamb’s  Tales  From  Shakespeare.  Introduction  by  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps  Ward. 
Illustrated  by  Homer  W.  Colby  after  Pilld.  In  three  parts.  Paper,  each  part,  15 
cents ; cloth,  three  parts  bound  in  one,  40  cents. 

Martineau’s  The  Crofton  Boys.  Edited  by  William  Elliot  Griffis.  Illustrated  by  A.  F. 
Schmitt.  In  two  parts.  Paper,  each  part,  10  cents ; cloth,  two  parts  bound  in  one,  30 
cents. 

Motley’s  The  Siege  of  Leyden.  Edited  by  William  Elliot  Griffis.  With  nineteen  illus- 
trations from  old  Dutch  prints  and  photographs,  and  a map.  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20 
cents. 

Brown’s  Rab  and  His  Friends  and  Stories  of  Our  Dogs.  Edited  by  T.  M.  Balliet. 
Illustrated  by  David  L.  Munroe  after  Sir  Noel  Paton,  Mrs.  Blackburn,  George  Hardy, 
and  Lumb  Stocks.  Paper,  10  cents  ; cloth,  20  cents. 

FOR  GRADES  VII,  VIII  AND  IX. 

Hamerton’s  Chapters  on  Animals  : Dogs,  Cats  and  Horses.  Edited  by  W.  P.  Trent. 
Illustrated  after  Sir  E.  Landseer,  Sir  John  Millais,  Rosa  Bonheur,  E.  Van  Muyden, 
Veyrassat,  J.  L.  Gerome,  K.  Bodmer,  etc.  Paper,  15  cents  ; cloth,  25  cents. 

Irving’s  Dolph  Heyliger.  Edited  by  G.  PI.  Browne.  Illustrated  by  H.  P.  Barnes. 
Paper,  15  cents  ; cloth,  25  cents. 

Shakespeare’s  The  Tempest.  Edited  by  Sarah  W.  Hiestand.  Illustrations  after  Retzch 
and  the  Chandos  portrait.  Paper,  15  cents  ; cloth,  25  cents. 

Shakespeare’s  A Midsummer  Night’s  Dream.  Edited  by  Sarah  W.  Hiestand.  Illus- 
trations after  Smirke  and  the  Droeshout  portrait.  Paper,  15  cents  ; cloth,  25  cents. 

Shakespeare’s  The  Comedy  of  Errors.  Edited  by  Sarah  W.  Hiestand.  Illustrations 
after  Smirke,  Creswick,  Leslie  and  the  Jansen  portrait.  Paper,  15  cents;  cloth,  25 
cents. 

Shakespeare’s  The  Winter’s  Tale.  Edited  by  Sarah  W.  Hiestand.  Illustrations  after 
Leslie,  Wheatley,  Wright,  and  the  bust  in  Westminster  Abbey.  Paper,  15  cents  ; cloth, 
25  cents. 

Other  ?uembers  in  preparation.  Full  descriptive  circiilar  sent  free  upon  request. 

See  also  our  list  of  books  itpon  Supplementary  Reading. 

D.  C.  HEATH  & CO.,  Publishers,  Boston,  New  York,  Chicago 


The  Heart  of  Oak  Books 


A collection  of  traditional  rhymes  and  stories  for  children,  and  of  mas- 
terpieces of  poetry  and  prose,  for  use  at  school  and  at  home,  chosen  with 
special  reference  to  the  cultivation  of  the  imagination  and  a taste  for  good 
reading.  By 

CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON. 


These  six  volumes  provide  an  unrivaled  means  of  making  good  reading 
more  attractive  than  bad,  and  of  giving  right  direction  to  uncritical  choice, 
by  offering  to  the  young,  without  comment  or  lesson-book  apparatus, 

Selected  Portions  of  the  Best  Literature,  the  Virtue  of 
WHICH  HAS  BEEN  APPROVED  BY  LONG  CONSENT. 

The  selections  are  of  unusual  length,  completeness  and  variety,  compris- 
ing a very  large  proportion  of  poetry,  and  are  adapted  to  the  progressive 
needs  of  childhood  and  youth  by  a unique  principle  of  selection,  grading  and 
arrangement,  which  makes  each  volume  a unit,  and  makes  the  series  the  first 
permanent  contribution  to  the  body  of  school  reading  by  a man  of  letters 
which  children  will  love  and  cherish  after  school-days  are  over. 

The  Fine  Taste  and  Rare  Literary  Experience  and  Resources 

of  the  editor  are  a guarantee  that  the  series  contains  nothing  but  the  very 
best.  No  author’s  name  or  reputation  has  been  potent  enough  to  save  from 
rejection  any  selection  that  did  not  meet  the  editor’s  exacting  standard  in  at 
least  three  particulars:  First,  absolute  truth  to  nature  (especially  nature  in 

America);  second,  wide,  healthy,  human  interest;  third,  the  highest  possible 
merit  in  point  of  literary  form.  The  result,  therefore,  is  a body  of  reading  of 
extraordinarily  trustworthy  character.  The  youth  who  shall  become  acquaint- 
ed with  the  contents  of  these  volumes  will  share  in  the  common  stock  of  the 
intellectual  life  of  the  race,  and  will  have  the  door  opened  to  him  of  all  the 
vast  and  noble  resources  of  that  life. 

For  Home  Use, 

even  by  children  most  favored  by  circumstance,  these  volumes  provide  the 
richest  store  of  thought  and  music  to  grow  up  with  and  to  learn  by  heart. 
No  happier  birthday  or  Christmas  gift  can  be  conceived,  especially  for  children 
in  the  country,  or  remote  from  libraries  and  other  means  of  culture,  than  a set 
of  the  Heart  of  Oak  Books.  They  are  a veritable  possession  forever,  and 
their  price  puls  them  within  the  reach  of  all. 

Descriptive  pamphlet  giving  prefaces,  tables  of  contents,  specimen  pages, 
and  indexes  of  authors  sent  on  application. 


D-  C.  HEATH  & CO.,  Publishers 


Boston 


New  York 


Atlanta 


Chicago 


OUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 


"D  0 0 0 1 2 3 3 2 B 


